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ILontJCtT Waterloo Place. 

©ifortl High Street. 

Cambridge Trinity Street 




*}M OF PWfc 

FEB 7 1933 





Miscellaneous Poems 




ILontion, ©if orb, nub Catnoribgc 

Digitized by the Internet Archive 
in 2013 


The continued demand for the Poems of the late Rev. 
Henry Francis Lyte [Author of the well-known Hymn 
'Abide with me,' and of others which have found their 
way into almost every modern collection of Sacred Poetry), 
has i)iduced the publishers to reprint the Miscellaneous 
Poems originally published in the two volumes, entitled 
1 Poems, chiefly Religious,' and ' Remains of the 
Rev. II. F. Lyte, with a Prefatory Memoir' 
(one of his Prize Poems, entitled ; The Battle of Sala- 
manca,' written while at Trinity College, Dublin, being 
alone emitted). 

Should this volume meet with the success anticipated, 
it is proposed to publish the remaining Poems of the 
Author, including 'THE SPIRIT OF THE PSALMS,' in 
a second volume, uniform with the present, so as to form 
a complete collection of his Poetical Works. 

September. 1868. 




Elijah's interview with god, . . 4 

the mother and her dying roy, . . 7 

the alps, . . . . .ii 

mary's grave, . . . . .15 

'the unknown god,' . . . . 17 

stability, ..... 20 

on a naval oeficer buried in the atlantic, 23 
the voice of god, . . . .25 

AGNES, ...... 27 

the approach of spring, . . . 30 

november, ..... 36 

'lo, we have left all and followed thee,' 40 











TO A BLADE OF GRASS, . . . .99 

A FALLEN SISTER, . . . . 103 


she is gone! she is gone ! . . . 109 

FLOWERS, . . . . .112 





1 IT IS I : BE NOT AFRAID,' . . . 133 












'it dutii not yet appear what we shall be,' 
' o, that i had wings like a dove, for 
then would i fly away and be at rest," 
friends lost in 1833, . 
stanzas to i. k., 

sea changes, .... 
david's three mighty ones, 
a recall to my child a. m. , . 
declining days, 

the dying christian to his soul, . 
napoleon's GRAVE, 






I6 5 








2 35 


JANUARY 1ST, 1 847, 





• 283 





A. M. M. L., 







Jato sf) all foe sing tlje SLorVs song fn 
a strange Unto?' 

The song of God, so nobly sung 
By angels in a higher sphere, 

Shall my unworthy heart and tongue 
Attempt its numbers here? 

With spirit cleaving to the dust, 

How should I hope to glow and soar I 

How speak of heavenly joy and trust, 
Till I have felt them more 1 


An heir of guilt, a child of sin, 

An exile in a world like this, 
What should I find without, within, 

To match with Him and His ? 

In vain I spread my flickering wings ; 

In vain I strive aloft to flee : 
Great Lord of lords, and King of kings, 

I cannot sing of Thee ! 

I want a seraph's lofty voice, 
I want a seraph's soaring wing, 

Before I make such themes my choice, 
And God's dread glories sing. 

Thou needest not a note of mine 

To swell the triumphs of Thy throne, 

Where myriads round Thee bend and shine, 
And Heaven is all Thy own ! 

No, rather let me sit and sigh, 
And drop contrition's silent tear : 

Praise is the task of saints on high ; 
But prayer of sinners here. 

The song of God, that glorious song, 
From me in such a world as this ? 

O no ! a worthier heart and tongue 
Must speak of Him and His. 

©lijalj's Entcrbicfo tottrj @ot> 

'And he said, Go forth, and stand upon the mount be/ore the 
Lord. And, behold, the Lord passed by, and a great and strong 
wind re?it the mountains, and brake in pieces the rocks, before the 
Lord ; but the Lord was not in the wind: and after the wind an 
earthquake ; but the Lord was not in the earthquake : and after 
the earthquake a fire ; but the Lord was 7wt in the fire ; and 
after the fire a still small voice.' 1 — i Kings xix. 11-12. 

Ox Horeb's rock the prophet stood : 
The Lord before him passed : 

A hurricane in angry mood 
Swept by him strong and fast. 

The forests fell before its force ; 

The rocks were shivered in its course : 
God rode not in the blast ! 

'Twas but the whirlwind of His breath, 

Announcing danger, wreck, and death. 

It ceased : the air was mute. A cloud 

Came muffling up the sun : 
Went through the mountains deep and loud 

An earthquake thundered on. 
The frighted eagle sprang in air ; 
The wolf ran howling from his lair. 

God was not in the stun ! 
Twas but the rolling of His car, 
The trampling of His steeds from far. 

It ceased again : and Nature stood 
And smoothed her ruffled frame : 

When swift from heaven a fiery flood 
To earth devouring came. 

Down to his depths the ocean fled ; 

The sickening sun looked wan and dead. 
Yet God filled not the flame ! 

'Twas but the fierceness of His eye, 

That lightened through the troubled sky. 

At last a voice all still and small 

Rose sweetly on the ear ; 
Yet rose so calm and clear that all 

In heaven and earth might hear. 
It spoke of hope ; it spoke of love ; 
It spoke as spirits speak above ; 

And God Himself was here ! 
For, oh, it was a Fathers voice, 
That bade His trembling world rejoice. 

Speak, gracious Lord, speak ever thus ; 

And let Thy terrors prove 
The harbingers of peace to us, 

The heralds of Thy love ! 
Shine through the earthquake, fire, and storm. 
Shine in Thy milder, better form, 

And all our fears remove ! 
One word of Thine is all we claim ; 
'Tis ' mercy ' through a Saviour's name. 

2Tfje fHotfjcr artti fjcr Sgtng Bag 


My mother, my mother, O let me depart ! 
Your tears and your pleadings are swords to 

my heart. 
I hear gentle voices, that chide my delay ; 
I see lovely visions, that woo me away. 
My prison is broken, my trials are o'er ! 
O mother, my mother, detain me no more ! 


And will you then leave us, my brightest, my 

And will you run nestling no more to my breast I 
The summer is coming to sky and to bower ; 
The tree that you planted will soon be in flower ; 


You loved the soft season of song and of bloom ; 
Oh, shall it return, and find you in the tomb ? 


Yes, mother, I loved in the sunshine to play, 
And talk with the birds and the blossoms all 

But sweeter the songs of the spirits on high, 
And brighter the glories round God in the sky : 
I see them! I hear them! they pull at my 

heart ! 
My mother, my mother, O let me depart ! 


do not desert us ! Our hearts will be drear, 
Our home will be lonely, when you are not here. 
Your brother will sigh 'mid his play tilings, and 


1 wonder dear Willie so long can delay. 

That foot like the wild wind, that glance like a 

star — 
O what will this world be, when they are afar ? 

This world, dearest mother! O live not for this ; 
No, press on with me to the fulness of bliss ! 
And, trust me, whatever bright fields I may roam, 
My heart will not wander from you and from 

Believe me still near you on pinions of love ; 
Expect me to hail you when soaring above. 


Well, — go, my beloved ! The conflict is o'er: — 
My pleas are all selfish ; I urge them no more. 
Why chain your bright spirit down here to the 

So thirsting for freedom, so ripe for its God ? 


Farewell, then ! farewell, till we meet at the 

Where love fears no partings, and tears are un- 
known ! 


Glory ! O Glory ! what music ! what light ! 
What wonders break in on my heart, on my 

sight ! 

1 come, blessed spirits ! I hear you from high. 
O frail, faithless nature, can this be to die 1 

So near ! what, so near to my Saviour and 

King '] 
O help me, ye angels, His glories to sing ! 


The Alps — the Alps — the joyous Alps, 
Are all around me heaving high. 

I bow me to their snowy scalps, 
That rush into the sky. 

Hail, lordly land of storm and strife, 
To poetry and wonder dear ! 

'Tis worth an age of common life 
To feel as I do here : 

To look down on that deep-blue lake ; 

To look up in that glorious sky ; 
To feel my soul within me wake, 

And ask for wings to fly : 


To bound the airy heights along ; 

Above the floating clouds to stand ; 
And meet Creation's God among 

The wonders of His hand. 

Hail, scenes of holy grandeur ! hail ! 

Where mortal sense stands hushed and awed. 
Oh, who could gaze on such, and fail 

To think of Thee, my God 1 

Alone and dread Thou dwellest here, 
The Source and Soul of all I see. 

I look around in joy and fear, 
And feel I am with Thee ! 

I see Thee on the mountain sit, 

At summer's noon, sublime and still ; 

Or, in the giant shadows flit 
Along from hill to hill. 


I read Thy presence and Thy power 
In each eternal rock I meet ; 

I trace Thy love in every flower 
That blossoms at my feet. 

Thou speakest from each rolling cloud 
That pours its stormy mirth on high, 

When cliff to cliff is shouting loud, 
Responsive to the sky. 

Thy voice at night is in the sound 
Of sinking glaciers, rushing rills, 

And avalanches thundering round 
Among the startled hills. 

The mountain mists, in all their moods, 
The snows by earthly feet untrod, 

The fells, the forests, and the floods. 
Are all instinct with God. 

O regions, wonderful and wild, 

Sublimity's inspiring home, 
Scenes I have dreamt of since a child, 

And longed as now to roam ! 

And I am here ! and I may range 

Your length and breadth without control 

And feel a world all new and strange 
Break in upon my soul ! 

Hail, mountain monarchs ! hail ! Again 
Before your reverend feet I bow : 

How poor is language to explain 
The thoughts that fill me now ! 


fftarg's ©ta&e 

Mary, thou art gone to rest ; 

Why should we deplore thee ] 
Light the turf lies on thy breast, 

Soft the winds breathe o'er thee. 
Here within thy native clay 

Calmly thou art sleeping, 
Safer, happier, far than they 

Who are o'er thee weeping. 

Pleasant is thy lowly bed, 

Close to those that bore thee \ 

Trees, 'neath which thy childhood played, 
Gently waving o'er thee. 


Hark the thrush ! how sweet his lay ! 

See the flowers, how blooming ! 
' Weep not for the dead,' they say, 

' Though in earth consuming. 

' Weep not for her — she is gone 

Where no cares can move her ; 
All her earthly labours done, 

All her trials over. 
Weep not — she has found a home 

Where no sorrow paineth : 
Sin, nor tears, nor terrors come, 

Where a Saviour reisxieth.' 

' God) that made the world, and all things therein, seeing- that 
He is Lord of heaven and earth t dwelleth not in temples made 
with hands.' — Acts xvii. 24 

The Lord hath builded for Himself; 

He needs no earthly dome : 
The universe His dwelling is, 

Eternity His home. 

Von glorious sky His temple stands, 

So lofty, bright, and blue, 
All lamped with stars, and curtained round 

With clouds of every hue. 

Earth is His altar : nature there 

Her daily tribute pays : 
The elements upon Him wait, 

The seasons roll His praise. 



Where shall I see Him ] How describe 

The Dread, Eternal One 1 
His foot-prints are in every place, 

Himself is found in none. 

He called the world, and it arose ; 

The heavens, and they appeared : 
His hand poured forth the mighty deep ; 

His arm the mountains reared. 

He sets His foot upon the hills, 
And earth beneath Him quakes ; 

He walks upon the hurricane, 
And in the thunder speaks. 

I search the rounds of space and time, 
Nor find His semblance there : 

Grandeur has nothing so sublime, 
Nor beauty half so fair. 


Vet all I am, or meet, proclaim 
His wisdom, love, and power : 

They shine from all yon rolling worlds 
They bloom in every flower. 

He is \ He was ; He aye shall be. 

But how, my soul 1 and what ? 
Where is He ? — say, ye works of His — 

Vain thought ! where is He not 1 

Thou Omnipresent, dread Unknown, 

Engage me evermore : 
Enlarge my views, exalt my soul, 

And help me to adore ! 



There is a change in all below ; 

Nought sure beneath the sky : 
Suns rise and set, tides ebb and flow, 

And man but lives to die. 

Our joys and sorrows, hopes and fears, 
Still course each other on . 

A blessing in our path appears — 
We grasp, and it is gone ! 

No drop of honey, but a sting 

Within it lies concealed ; 
No hour that passes, but its wing 

Away some good has wheeled. 


The joyous sun that lights to-day 

But clouds to-morrow's sky : 
The stars but shine to fall away ; 

The world but lives to die. 

And let them pass — each earthly thing — 
While, Lord, 't is mine to stand 

On Thy eternal word, and cling 
To Thy almighty hand. 

Though sun and moon should sink in gloom, 

Thy promise ne'er declines : 
Dissolving worlds but leave Thee room 

To work Thy vast designs. 

Linked to Thy truth I hold me up, 
Though earth from 'neath me slide ; 

And take content whatever cup 
Thy wisdom may provide. 


"Bitter or sweet, I little heed : 
All, all is sweet to me, 

While I my title clearly read 
To joys at last with Thee. 


©n a il a fa a I Officer burieti in tfjc 

There is, in the wide lone sea, 
A spot unmarked, but holy ; 
For there the gallant and the free 
In his ocean bed lies lowly. 

Down, down, within the deep, 
That oft to triumph bore him, 
He sleeps a sound and pleasant sleep, 
With the salt waves washing o'er him. 

He sleeps serene, and safe 
From tempest or from billow, 
Where the storms, that high above him chafe, 
Scarce rock his peaceful pillow. 


The sea and him in death 
They did not dare to sever : 
It was his home while he had breath : 
'T is now his rest for ever. 

Sleep on, thou mighty dead ! 
A glorious tomb they Ve found thee. 
The broad blue sky above thee spread, 
The boundless waters round thee. 

No vulgar foot treads here ; 
No hand profane shall move thee ; 
But gallant fleets shall proudly steer, 
And warriors shout, above thee. 

And when the last trump shall sound, 
And tombs are asunder riven, 
Like the morning sun from the wave thou' It 
To rise and shine in heaven. 

E\)t Fotcc of ©Oft— For Music 


Glory and praise to Jehovah on high \ 

Glory from all, through the earth and the sky! 
Angels, approach Him in homage and duty ; 

Fall at the feet of your Heavenly King : 
Saints, to His presence O throng, in the beauty 

Of holy devotion His mercies to sing. 

Glory and praise to Jehovah on high ! 

Glory from all, through the earth and the sky ! 

The voice of Jehovah, majestic and loud, 
In thunders comes forth from his palace of 
cloud ; 
That voice o'er the silence of ocean is breaking ; 
It rolls o'er the waters, it bursts on the shore : 


The forests are bending, the mountains are 

And earth and her creatures stand still and 

Glory and praise to Jehovah on high ! 
Glory from all, through the earth and the sky ! 

The voice of Jehovah more sweetly is heard 
By saints in His temple attending His word. 
He speaks not to them in the whirlwind or 

thunder ; 
He comes not to threaten, denounce, or 

reprove : 
He comes with glad tidings of joy and of 

wonder ; 
He bids them be blest in Immanuel's love. 
Glory and praise to Jehovah on high ! 
Glory from all, through the earth and the sky ! 


I saw her in childhood — 

A bright gentle thing, 
Like the dawn of the morn, 

Or the dews of the spring 
The daisies and hare-bells 

Her playmates all day ; 
Herself as light-hearted 

And artless as they. 

I saw her again — 

A fair girl of eighteen, 

Fresh glittering with graces 
Of mind and of mien. 


Her speech was all music ; 

Like moonlight she shone ; 
The envy of many, 

The glory of one. 

Years, years fleeted over — 

I stood at her foot : 
The bud had grown blossom, 

The blossom was fruit. 
A dignified mother, 

Her infant she bore ; 
And looked, I thought, fairer 

Than ever before. 

I saw her once more — 

'T was the day that she died . 
Heaven's light was around her, 

And Ciod at her side ; 


\o wants to distress her, 
No fears to appal — 

() then, I felt, then 
She was fairest of all 1 


3Hje approach of Spring 

O ! spring-time now will soon be here- — 
The sweetest time of all the year ; 
When fields are green, and skies are blue, 
And the world grows beautiful anew. 

The storms and clouds shall pass from high ; 
And the sun walk lordly up the sky. 
And look down love and joy again 
On herb, and beast, and living men. 

Then the laughing flowers on plant and tree 
Shall bud and blossom pleasantly ; 
And spirits through the buxom air 
Drop health and gladness every where : 


The birds shall build their nests, and wake 
Their roundelays in bush and brake ; 
And the young west-wind on joyous feet 
Go wooing along from sweet to sweet. 

Then lives lithe Hope, live Love and Mirth ; 
Then God in beauty walks the earth : 
The heart is in tune, and the life-blood plays, 
And the soul breaks out in songs of praise. 

! spring-time now will soon be here, 
The sweetest time of all the year ; 
When green leaves burst, and fiow'rets spring, 
And young hearts too are blossoming. 

'T was then I ventured first to twine 
My Annie's trembling arm in mine ; 
And trod — with her I cared not where — 
Through vocal fields and scented air. 

O days of sunshine, song, and flowers ! 
O young Love's early haunts and hours ! 
O tones and looks ! O smiles and tears ! 
How shine ye still through lapse of years ! 

There was one bank we loved to climb, 
All matted o'er with fragrant thyme, 
And screened from every vagrant breeze 
But the sweet south, up which the bees 

Came musical; and there we stood, 
And gazed down on the ocean flood, 
That slept beneath us heaving mild 
Between his shores, like a cradled child \ 

Or turned where on the orchard trees 
Young Spring sat swinging in the breeze, 
Unfolding buds, and tending flowers, 
For Summer's future fruits and bowers. 


All, all was bright ! — at times like this 
No sight or sound comes in amiss ; 
But things around appear to win 
A colour from the mood within. 

The earth laughed into flower : the sky 
Cleared off the cloud from its brow on high ; 
And God — the God of grace — unfurled 
His flag of peace o'er a fallen world. 

These youthful days are past and gone ; 

The autumn of my years comes on ; 

I much am changed in mind and frame ; 

Yet Spring, sweet Spring, comes still the same. 

I grow young with the young year then ; 
I live my past lot o'er again ; 
And in these hours of song and bloom 
See types of those beyond the tomb. 


O ! spring-time now will soon be here. 
The spring of Heaven's millennial year ; 
When God again o'er nature's night, 
Shall say, ' Be light,' and there is light. 

O Thou that into glorious birth 
Shalt wake at last this fallen earth, 
While humbler things Thy influence share, 
Be not the soul forgotten there ! 

Rise, Sun of Glory ! rise, and shine 
Within this wintry breast of mine ; 
And make my inward wastes and snows 
Rejoice and blossom as the rose. 

Oh, while I seem to catch the sound 
Of vegetation swelling round, 
Grant me within a growth to prove 
Of faith, and hope, and joy, and love ! 


Spring-tide of grace, thy course begin ; 
Chase the dark reign of sense and sin ; 
From light to light advance and shine, 
Till Heaven's eternal spring is mine ! 


The autumn wind is moaning low the requiem 

of the year ; 
The days are growing short again, the fields 

forlorn and sere ; 
The sunny sky is waxing dim, and chill the 

hazy air ; 
And tossing trees before the breeze are turning 

brown and bare. 

All nature and her children now prepare for 

rougher days : 
The squirrel makes his winter bed, and hazel 

hoard purveys ; 


The sunny swallow spreads his wing to seek a 

brighter sky ; 
And boding owl, with nightly howl, says cloud 

and storm are nigh. 

Xo more 't is sweet to walk abroad among the 

evening dews : 
The flowers are fled from every path, with all 

their scents and hues : 
The joyous bird no more is heard, save where 

his slender song 
The robin drops, as meek he hops the withered 

leaves among. 

Those withered leaves, that slender song, a 

solemn truth convey, — 
In wisdom's ear they speak aloud of frailty and 

decay : 
They say that man's apportioned year shall 

have its winter too \ 
Shall rise and shine, and then decline, as all 

around him do. 


They tell him, all he has on earth, his brightest 

clearest things, 
His loves and friendships, joys and hopes, have 

all their falls and springs : 
A wave upon a moon-lit sea, a leaf before the 

A summer flower, an April hour, that gleams 

and hurries past. 

And be it so : I know it well : myself, and all 

that 's mine, 
Must roll on with the rolling year, and ripen to 

I do not shun the solemn truth : to him it is 

not drear 
Whose hopes can rise above the skies, and see 

a Saviour near. 


It only makes him feel with joy, this earth is 

not his home ; 
It sends him on from present ills to brighter 

hours to come : 
It bids him take with thankful heart whate'er 

his God may send, 
Content to go through weal or woe to glory in 

the end. 

Then murmur on, ye wintry winds ; remind me 

of my doom : 
Ye lengthened nights, still image forth the 

darkness of the tomb. 
Eternal summer lights the heart where Jesus 

deigns to shine. 
I mourn no loss, I shun no cross, so thou, 

O Lord, art mine ! 


3Lo, irre fjafcre left all, anto folio tocb 

Jesus, I my cross have taken, 

All to leave and follow Thee : 
Destitute, despised, forsaken, 

Thou from hence my all shalt be. 
Perish, every fond ambition, 

All I 've sought, and hoped, and known 
Yet how rich is my condition, — 

God and heaven are still my own I 

Let the world despise and leave me — 
They have left my Saviour too — 

Human hearts and looks deceive me ; 
Thou art not, like man, untrue : 


And while Thou shalt smile upon me, 
God of wisdom, love, and might, 

Foes may hate, and friends may shun me : 
Show Thy face, and all is bright ! 

Go then, earthly fame and treasure ! 

Come, disaster, scorn, and pain ! 
In Thy service, pain is pleasure ; 

With thy favour, loss is gain. 
I have called Thee Abba, Father ; 

I have stayed my heart on Thee : 
Storms may howl, and clouds may gather ; 

All must work for good to me. 

Man may trouble and distress me ; 

T will but drive me to Thy breast. 
Life with trials hard may press me ; 

Heaven will bring me sweeter rest. 


Oh, 't is not in grief to harm me ! 

While Thy love is left to me ! 
Oh, 'twere not in joy to charm me, 

Were that joy unmixed with Thee. 

Take, my soul, thy full salvation ; 

Rise o'er sin, and fear, and care ; 
Joy to find in every station 

Something still to do or bear ! 
Think what Spirit dwells within thee ; 

What a Father's smile is thine ; 
What thy Saviour died to win thee, — 

Child of Heaven, shouldst thou repine ? 

Haste then on from grace to glory, 

Armed by faith, and winged by prayer ; 

Heaven's eternal day 's before thee ; 
God's own hand shall guide thee there. 


Soon shall close thy earthly mission ; 

Swift shall pass thy pilgrim days ; 
Hope soon change to glad fruition. 

Faith to sight, and prayer to praise. 


fEornirtrj STfjoug^ts 

Again, O Lord, I ope my eyes, 

Thy glorious light to see, 
And share the gifts so largely lent 

To thankless man by Thee. 

And why has God o'er me this night 

The watch so kindly kept I 
And why have I so safely waked ? 

And why so sweetly slept 1 

And wherefore do I live and breathe ? 

And wherefore have I still 
The mind to know, the sense to choose, 

The strength to do Thy will ? 


Is it, to waste another day 

In folly, sin, and shame? 
To give to these my heart and hand, 

And spurn my Maker's claim ? 

Is it, for honour, wealth, or power 
My heavenly hopes to sell ? 

Is it, to grasp at pleasure's flower 
Upon the brink of hell ? 

Is it, to grow unto the world, 
As glides the world from me ; 

Be one day nearer to the grave, 
And further, Lord, from Thee ? 

No ! thus too many days I 've spent ! 

To Thee, then, this be given : 
Teach what I owe to man below, 

And to Thyself in heaven. 

4 6 

Oh, bring me to my Saviour's cross 

For mercy for the past ; 
And make me live the coming day 

As if it were my last ! 


Sweet evening hour ! sweet evening hour ! 
That calms the air, and shuts the flower ; 
That brings the wild bird to her nest, 
The infant to its mother's breast. 

Sweet hour ! that bids the labourer cease ; 
That gives the weary team release, 
And leads them home, and crowns them there 
With rest and shelter, food and care. 

O season of soft sounds and hues, 
Of twilight walks among the dews, 
Of feelings calm, and converse sweet, 
And thoughts too shadowy to repeat ! 

4 8 

The weeping eye, that loathes the day, 
Finds peace beneath thy soothing sway ; 
And faith and prayer o'ermastering grief, 
Burst forth, and bring the heart relief. 

Yes, lovely hour ! thou art the time 
When feelings flow, and wishes climb ; 
When timid souls begin to dare, 
And God receives and answers prayer. 

Then trembling through the dewy skies 
Look out the stars, like thoughtful eyes 
Of angels, calm reclining there, 
And gazing on this world of care. 

Then, as the earth recedes from sight, 
Heaven seems to ope her fields of light, 
And call the fettered soul above, 
From sin and grief, to peace and love. 


Sweet hour ! for heavenly musing made— 
When Isaac walked, and Daniel prayed : 
When Abram's offering God did own ; 
And Jesus loved to be alone. 

Who has not felt that Evening's hour 
Draws forth devotion's tenderest power ; 
That guardian spirits round us stand, 
And God himself seems most at hand 1 

The very birds cry shame on men, 
And chide their selfish silence, then : 
The flowers on high their incense send ; 
And earth and heaven unite and blend. 

Let others hail the rising day : 
I praise it when it fades away ; 
When life assumes a higher tone, 
And God and heaven are all my own. 


£nba cation 


Spirits of light and love, who pace around 
The city's sapphire walls ; whose stainless 
Measure the gem-paved paths of sacred 
And trace the New Jerusalem's jasper street ! 
Ah you, whose overflowing hearts are crowned 
With your best wishes; who enjoy the sweet 
Of all your hopes ; when next ye come before 
My absent Lord, O say how I implore 
From His reviving eye one look of kindness 

Tell Him, O tell Him, how my widowed breast 
Beneath the burden of His frown has pined : 

Tell Him, O tell Him, how I lie oppressed 

In all the tempest of a troubled mind. 
O tell Him, tell Him, I can know no rest 
Till He shall smile, as once, appeased and 
Tell Him, I think upon the vows he sware — 
His love, His truth, His grace — and thus I dare 
To come before Him now with penitence and 

Say, the parched soil desires not so the shower 
To quicken and refresh her embryo grain ; 

Say, the fallen crestlet of the drooping flower 
Wooes not the bounty of the genial rain, 

As my lorn spirit looks out for the hour 
When her lost Lord shall visit her again. 

Then, gentle spirits, should ye hear your lays, 

And seem to melt, your best Hosannahs raise ; 
And with your heavenly notes sustain my feeble 


Return unto ffte, anb £ faill return 
unto 2Tfjee ' 

Wilt Thou return to me, O Lord, 

If I return to Thee 1 
O Heavenly truth ! O gracious word ! 

My Hope and Refuge be ! 

Since from Thy foot I dared to roam, 

My soul has found no rest, 
Chastised and contrite, back 1 come, 

To seek it in Thy breast. 

And dost Thou say Thou wilt receive, 
And call me still Thy own 1 

My spirit, hear, accept, believe ! 
And melt my heart of stone ! 

Again that gracious word to me ! 

O speak that word again ! 
My guilt is pardoned ? — can it be 1 — 

And loosed my every chain ? 

Xo, blessed Lord ; not every chain, 
Xot every bond, remove : 

Let one, at least, unloosed remain — 
The bond of grateful love. 


JFlg, ge PjOUtS — For Music 

Fly, ye hours, the best, the brightest : 
Best are they that fleet the lightest ! 
Man, be wise : 
Thy earthly joys 
Are poor, compared with those thou slightest. 

The world we roam 

Is not our home : 
We seek a rest that aye remaineth. 

Through weal or woe, 

From all below 
We haste to scenes where nothing paineth. 
Fly, ye hours, etc. 


It is not life, 

This toil and strife : 
These only serve from God to sever. 

We hope to rise 

Above the skies ; 
And there shall live, and live for ever. 

Fly, ye hours, etc. 

Can that be gain, 
Whose charms detain 
The soul from glory's richer treasures ? 
Can that be woe, 
That serves to throw 
A brighter hue o'er coming pleasures ? 
Fly, ye hours, the best, the brightest ! 
Thou that in the world delightest, 
Rise, O rise 
To nobler joys ; 
And taste the bliss which now thou slightest. 


1 ESajjitijer sljail I fig from Ojg presence?' 

Where shall I fly ? What dark untrodden path 
Will lead a sinner from his Maker's wrath 1 
Alas ! where'er I bend my outcast way, 
His eye can search, His mighty hand hath sway. 

Is there no island in the depths of space, 
Xo distant world, where I may shun His chase 1 
Ah no ! Of all He is the spring and soul : 
All feel His care, all own His high control. 

But there is night : — perhaps her murky womb 
May wrap and hide me in its depths of gloom 1 
Xo : He that says, ' Be light, and there is light.' 
Can look Omniscience thro' the dunnest night. 


(jive me then morning's wings: I'll fling me 

The desert waste ne'er claims His eve or care. 
Vain hope ! If He were absent, conscience 

Would act the God, and scare me back to men. 

Well, then, the ocean : she my head shall hide, 
And quench His bolts in her o'ersheltering tide. 
Fool ! the dark waves cleave wide at His com- 
mand ; 
And, lo, He walks them as He walks the land. 

What say the rocks ? Stern marble, ope thy 

And lock me in to monumental rest. 
Vain, vain ! His voice the rocks have often 

heard ; 
Nay, worlds dissolve before His lightest word. 


Be death then mine ! At least the grave, or hell, 
Will yield some sullen nook where I may dwell. 
No : the last trump shall burst the bars of death ; 
And God's stern presence felt makes hell beneath. 

Where then to flee? how shun His arm, His eye? 
Where find what earth, and heaven, and hell 

deny 1 
How pass beyond His infinite patrol, 
W T ho fills, pervades, informs the mighty whole \ 

O where to flee ? There is but one retreat — 
'T is that which brings me contrite to His feet : 
A change of heart, and not a change of place, 
That flees from Justice to the arms of Grace. 

The Saviour calls : l Come, trembler, to My 

breast ; 
' Beneath My cross thou may'st securely rest : 
' Washed in My blood, thy guilt will all remove ; 
' And wrath eternal grow Eternal Love.' 


Autumnal pjgmn 

The leaves around me falling 

Are preaching of decay ; 
The hollow winds are calling, 

' Come, pilgrim, come away ! ' 
The day, in night declining, 

Says, I must too decline : 
The year its life resigning — 

Its lot foreshadows mine. 

The light my path surrounding, 
The loves to which I cling, 

The hopes within me bounding, 
The joys that round me wing- 


All melt like stars of even, 
Before the morning's ray 

Pass upward into heaven, 
And chide at my delay. 

The friends gone there before me 

Are calling me from high, 
And joyous angels o'er me 

Tempt sweetly to the sky. 
' Why wait,' they say, ' and wither 

' 'Mid scenes of death and sin ? 
' ( ) rise to glory hither, 

' And find true life begin ! ' 

I hear the invitation, 

And fain would rise and come — 
A sinner, to salvation ; 

An exile, to his home : 


But while I here must linger, 
Thus, thus, let all I see 

Point on, with faithful finger, 
To heaven, O Lord, and Thee. 


Pattcti Christians 

When reft of the converse of those that they love, 

The godless may fret and repine : 
T is ours to look up to a Father above, 

And try to His will to resign. 
The friends in a Saviour need not be deplored, 

Wherever their lot may be cast : 
Tho' severed on earth, we are one in the Lord, 

And shall meet in His presence at last. 

Our Guardian all-wise and all-merciful is ; 

He knows, and will give us, the best : 
Assured we shall still be each other's and His, 

To Him we relinquish the rest. 


We each commend each to Omnipotent hands, 
And calm on His promise repose ; 

And know that, though scattered o'er seas and 
o'er lands, 
We are sure to reach home at the close. 

Meanwhile, we kneel down at the same Throne 
of Grace ; 

We breathe up the same daily prayer ; 
We march the same road to the same happy 

The same Spirit guiding us there. 
Sweet hope realizes the things that shall be, 

And memory those that have been ; 
And, reaching by these to what sense cannot see, 

\Vt lose the dark present between. 

We strive to be all that the absent would love : 
To flee from what they would condemn ; 

6 4 

Intent, when we meet, upon earth or above. 
To be found the more worthy of them. 

With aims so exalted, and trust so secure, 
All else is in lovely accord, 

All holy, all happy, all peaceful and pure. — 
Oh, who would not love in the Lord 1 



She rests beneath her native earth. 
Close to the spot that gave her birth. 
Her young feet trod the flowers that bloom- 
Meet emblems — on her early tomb : 
Her living voice was wont to cheer 
The echoes which our sorrows hear. 

She rests beneath her native earth ; 
And few remain to speak her worth. 
Her little sojourn here was spent 
In unobtrusive banishment : 
A flower upon the desert thrown, 
That lived and breathed to God alone. 



Yet long her gentle ways shall dwell 
In hearts that knew and loved her well 
And oft they lift their tearful eyes, 
To hear her calling from the skies ; 
And ill could they her absence bear, 
But that they hope to join her there. 


Spare tng jFlofoer 

( ) spare my flower, my gentle flower. 

The slender creature of a day ! 
Let it bloom out its little hour, 

And pass away. 
Too soon its fleeting charms must lie 

Decayed, unnoticed, overthrown. 
C) hasten not its destiny, — 
Too like thy own. 

The breeze will roam this way to-morrow. 

And sigh to find his playmate gone : 

The bee will come its sweets to borrow, 

And meet with none. 


O spare ! and let it still outspread 
Its beauties to the passing eye, 
And look up from its lowly bed 
Upon the sky. 

O spare my flower ! Thou know'st not what 

Thy undiscerning hand would tear : 
A thousand charms thou notest not 

Lie treasured there. 
Not Solomon, in all his state, 

Was clad like nature's simplest child ; 
Nor could the world combined create 
One floweret wild. 

Spare then this humble monument 

Of an Almighty's power and skill ; 
And let it at His shrine present 
Its homage still. 

6 9 

He made it who makes nought in vain 

He watches it who watches thee ; 
And He can best its date ordain 
Who bade it be. 

( ) spare my Mower — for it is frail ; 

A timid, w T eak, imploring thing — 
And let it still upon the gale 

Its moral fling. 
That moral thy reward shall be : 

Catch the suggestion, and apply : — 
' Go, live like me,' it cries ; Mike me 
* Soon, soon to die.' 



I would not always sail 
Upon a sunny sea : 
The mountain wave, the sounding gale, 
Have deeper joys for me. 

Let others love to creep 
Along the flowery dell : 
Be mine upon the craggy steep, 
Among the storms, to dwell. 

The rock, the mist, the foam, 
The wonderful, the wild — 
I feel they form my proper home, 
And claim me for their child. 


The whirlwind's rushing wing, 
The stern volcano's voice, 
To me an awful rapture bring : 
I tremble and rejoice. 

I love thy solemn roar, 
Thou deep, eternal sea, 
Sounding along from shore to shore 
The boundless and the free. 

I love the flood's hoarse song. 
The thunder's lordly mirth, 
The midnight wind, that walks along 
The hushed and trembling earth 

The mountain, lone and high, 
The dark and silent wood, 
The desert stretched from sky to sky 
In awful solitude. 


A presence and a power 
In scenes like these I see : 
The stillness of a midnight hour 
Has eloquence for me. 

Then, bursting earth's control, 
My thoughts are all at flood : 
I feel the stirrings in my soul 
Of an immortal mood. 

My energies expand ; 
My spirit looks abroad ; 
And, midst the terrible and grand. 
Feels nearer to her God. 

Let others tamely weigh 
The danger and the pain : 
I do not shrink the price to pay, 
To share the joy and gain. 



The billowy shore is booming loud, 
The sky is black with storm and cloud, 
The fields are bare, the air is chill, 

And winter reigns from vale to hill. 

The shortening day, the muffled sky, 
The wild wind whistling bleakly by, 
The naked fields, the leafless tree, 
Speak, mortal man, speak all to thee. 

They talk of sin, they talk of woe, 
Of ruin wrought to all below : 
They taunt the author of their doom, 
And point him onward to the tomb. 


The waves lift up their voice ; the woods 
Make solemn answer to the floods : 
They bid us stand abased and awed, 
And own an Omnipresent God. 

Calm on the tempest's hurrying wings 
He walks His trembling earth, and flings. 
Unmoved by elemental din, 
His scourges o'er a world of sin. 

Almighty ! be it mine to lie 
Adoring as Thou passest by, 
And hear Thee at the close proclaim 
The gentler glories of Thy name ! 

The fire, the earthquake, and the wind — 

In these my God I would not find — 

But in the Voice still, small, and dim, 

That speaks of Christ, and peace through Him. 

/ D 

'fHu Bdo&ci is mine, anS £ am J)ts' 


Long did I toil, and knew no earthly rest : 
Far did I rove, and found no certain home : 

At last I sought them in His sheltering breast, 
Who opes His arms, and bids the weary come. 

With Him I found a home, a rest divine ; 

And I since then am His, and He is mine. 

Yes, He is mine ! and nought of earthly things, 
Not all the charms of pleasure, wealth, or 

The fame of heroes, or the pomp of kings, 
Could tempt me to forego His love an hour. 

Co, worthless world. I cry. with all that's thine! 

Co ! I my Saviour's am, and He is mine. 


The good I have is from His stores supplied : 
The ill is only what He deems the best. 

He for my friend, I ni rich with nought beside : 
And poor without Him, though of all pos- 

Changes may come — I take, or I resign, 

Content, while I am His, while He is mine. 

Whate'er may change, in Him no change is seen, 
A glorious sun, that wanes not, nor declines : 

Above the clouds and storms He walks serene, 
And on His people's inward darkness shines. 

All may depart — I fret not nor repine, 

While I my Saviours am, while He is mine. 

He stays me falling ; lifts me up when down : 
Reclaims me wandering; guards from every 
foe ; 

Plants on my worthless brow the victor's crown, 
Which in return before His feet I throw. 


Grieved that I cannot better grace His shrine 
Who deigns to own me His, as He is mine. 

While here, alas ! I know but half His love, 
But half discern Him, and but half adore ; 

But when I meet Him in the realms above, 
I hope to love Him better, praise Him more, 

And feel, and tell, amid the choir divine, 

How fully I am His, and He is mine. 


SI Summer Bag in WLintix 

The winter wears a summer hue — 

The sun is on the wave ; 
The sky is one unclouded blue ; 

The winds begin to rave ; 

The feathery frost melts fast away 
From every glittering stem ; 

And cottage eaves in morning's ray 
Are dropping gold and gem. 

That ray the silver feet unlocks, 

Of all the tiny floods; 
They leap again down o'er their rocks, 

And prattle through the woods. 


The cattle in the field rejoice, 

The birds upon the wing, 
And from the brake a doubtful voice 

Half warbles. Welcome Spring ! 

The wave that flew o'er yester cliff, 

Is sleeping 'neath it now : 
And from its creek the summer skiff 

Steals out with timid prow. 

The anchored ships, their voyage o'er, 
Shake out their sails to dry ; 

The fisher spreads his nets on shore, 
Beneath the glowing sky. 

The old man from his chimney nook 

Creeps out into the sun : 
All Nature wears her own sweet look 

Of spring-tide just begun. 


O earth, all fallen as thou art, 

How soon thy darkest day 
Can into life and beauty start 

Beneath thy monarch's ray ! 

Nor less the contrast that awakes 

The wintry soul within, 
When, Lord, thy gladdening Gospel breaks 

On nature's night of sin. 

The Sun of Righteousness ascends ; 

The clouds and storms depart ; 
And heaven-born Grace implants and tends 

Her Eden in the heart. 

Vet earth's best joys are brief and base 
To those which Heaven supplies ; 

A summer smile on winter's face, 
A gleam through clouded skies. 


I would not spurn these wayside flow r ers. 

That strew my pathway home : 
But look through all to heavenly hours. 

And bid their fulness come. 


'3zm% ©Sept' 


Did Christ o'er sinners weep ] 
And shall our cheeks be dry ? 
Let floods of penitential grief 
Burst forth from every eye. 

The Son of God in tears 
The angels wondering see : 
Hast thou no wonder, O my souH 
He shed those tears for thee ! 

He wept that we might weep, 
Might weep our sin and shame 
He wept to show His love for us, 
And bid us love the same. 


Then tender be our hearts, 
Our eyes in sorrow dim, 
Till every tear from every eye 
Is wiped away by Him ! 

8 4 

$8 aim cnxix. 

Omniscient God, Thine eye divine 
My inmost soul can see ; 

And every thought and act of mine 
Is open, Lord, to Thee ! 

When up I rise, when down I lie, 
Still Thou art at my side. 

Where shall I shun Thy awful eye, 
Or from Thy Spirit hide '? 

If up to Heaven my flight I take, 
I meet Thee face to face ; 

If down to Hell, Thy terrors make 
The darkness of the place. 

I plunge into the shades of night ; 

But Thou art there with me : 
And darkness kindles into light 

Before one dance from Thee. 


From Thee, O Lord, I came at first, 
The creature of Thy hand : 

Thy providence my life has nursed, 
And by Thy grace I stand. 

Each member of my wondrous frame 
Displays Thy skill and power ; 

And countless benefits proclaim 
Thy love from hour to hour. 

Down in Thy arms at night I lie ; 

Thou watchest while I sleep. 
I wake at morn ; Thou still art nigh, 

My soul to tend and keep. 

Search me, O Lord ! my spirit prove, 

From sin O set me free ! 
And make my heart return the love 

It daily shares from Thee. 


ftfjc TOalWIotocr 

Why loves my flower, so high reclined 

Upon these walls of barren gloom, 
To waste her sweetness on the wind, 
And far from every eye to bloom I 
Why joy to twine with golden braid 
This ruined rampart's aged head, 
Proud to expose her gentle form, 
And swing her bright locks in the storm ? 

That lonely spot is bleak and hoar, 

Where prints my flower her fragrant kiss ; 

Yet sorrow hangs not fonder o'er 
The ruins of her faded bliss. 


And wherefore will she thus inweave 
The owl's lone couch, and feel at eve 
The wild bat o'er her blossoms fling, 
And strike them down with heedless wing I 

Thus, gazing on the loftiest tower 

Of ruined Fore at eventide, 
The Muse addressed a lonely flower 

That bloomed above in summer pride. 
The Muse's eye, the Muse's ear, 
Can more than others see and hear : 
The breeze of evening murmured by, 
And gave, she deemed, this faint reply : 

' On this lone tower, so wild and drear, 
' 'Mid storms and clouds I love to lie, 

' Because I find a freedom here 

4 Which prouder haunts could ne'er supply. 

' Safe on these walls I sit, and stem 
' The elements that conquered them ; 
' And high o'er reach of plundering foe 
' Smile on an anxious world below. 

' Though envied place I may not claim 

' On warrior's crest, or lady's hair ; 
' Though tongue may never speak my name, 

' Nor eye behold and own me fair ; 
' To Him, who tends me from the sky, 
' I spread my beauties here on high, 
1 And bid the winds to waft above 
' My incense to His throne of love. 

' And though in hermit solitude, 

' Aloft and wild, my home I choose, 

1 On the rock's bosom pillowed rude, 
' And nurtured by the falling dews ; 

8 9 

' Yet duly with the opening year 
1 I hang my golden mantle here. 
' A child of God's I am, and He 
' Sustains, and clothes, and shelters me. 

L Xor deem my state without its bliss : 

1 Mine is the first young smile of day ; 
' Mine the light zephyrs earliest kiss ; 
' And mine the skylark's matin lay. 
• These are my joys : with these on high 
' In peace I hope to live and die, 
' And drink the dew, and scent the breeze, 
' As blithe a flower as Flora sees.' 

Bloom on, sweet moralist ! Be thine 
The softest shower, the brightest sun ! 

Long o'er a world of error shine, 

And teach them what to seek and shun ! 


Bloom on, and show the simple glee 
That dwells with those who dwell like thee ; 
From noise, and glare, and folly driven, 
To thought, retirement, peace, and heaven. 

Show them, in thine, the Christian's lot, 

So dark and drear in worldly eyes ; 
And yet he would exchange it not 

For all they most pursue and prize. 
From meaner cares and trammels free, 
He soars above the world, like thee : 
And, fed and nurtured from above, 
Returns the debt in grateful love. 

Frail, like thyself, fair flower, is he, 
And beat by every storm and shower ; 

Yet on a Rock he stands, like thee, 

And braves the tempest's wildest power. 


And there he blooms, and gathers still 
A good from every seeming ill ; 
And, pleased with what his lot has given. 
He lives to God. and looks to heaven. 

9 2 

When earthly joys glide swift away, 
When hopes and comforts flee, 

When foes beset, and friends betray, 
I turn, my God, to Thee ! 

Thy nature, Lord, no change can know \ 

Thy promise still is sure ; 
And ills can ne'er so hopeless grow 

But Thou canst find a cure. 

Deliverance comes most bright and blest 

At dangers darkest hour ; 
And man's extremity is best 

To prove Almighty power. 


High as Thou art, Thou still art near 
When suppliants succour crave : 

And as Thine ear is swift to hear. 
Thv arm is strong to save. 


Efye Pilgrim's progress 

' Blessed is he whose transgression is forgiven, whose sin is 
covered.' — Psalm xxxii. 

Blest is the broken, bleeding heart, 

For sin constrained to ache ! 
Soon Heavenly Hands shall bind it up, 

No more to bleed or break. 

Blest are the eyes, whose burning tears 

O'er past transgressions fall ! 
The Sun of Righteousness shall rise, 

To dry, or light them all. 

That broken heart, that tearful eye, 

That pensive pilgrim guise, 
Are Heaven's own gifts, and more than all 

That worldlings seek or prize. 


Who has them, claims and titles has 

Which none beside can own ; 
Pledges of more than eye hath seen, 

Or heart conceived or known. 

Through clouds and sunshine, storm and calm 

He on to glory goes, 
With hope to light him o'er his way, 

And bliss to crown its close. 

The wise may slight, the proud may shun ! 

His God is with him still, 
And adds a zest to all his joys, 

And lightens every ill. 

Through Him he daily triumphs gains 

O'er Satan, self, and sin ; 
Through Him new blessings smile without, 

Xew joy and peace within. 

9 6 

A coal from heaven has touched his lips, 
And filled his mouth with song ; 

And Faith and Love spring forth to waft 
His fainting steps along. 

He goes, he goes, his fadeless crown 
From Christ's own hand to win ! 

The angels throng round heaven's high gate, 
To hail the stranger in ! 

The silver cord is loosed at last, 

The fettered soul takes wing ; 
Assumes its station fast by God, 

His ceaseless praise to sing. 


Cljr pilgrim** Song 

v remaineth a rest for the people of God.' — Heb i\. 

My rest is in heaven ; my rest is not here ; 
Then why should I murmur when trials are near \ 
Be hushed, my dark spirit ! the worst that can 

But shortens thy journey, and hastens thee home. 

It is not for me to be seeking my bliss 
And building my hopes in a region like this : 
I look for a city which hands have not piled : 
I pant for a country by sin undefiled. 

The thorn and the thistle around me may grow . 
I would not lie down upon roses below : 
I ask not my portion, I seek not a res 
Till T find them,( ) \j>]\}. in Thy sheltering bi 


9 8 

Afflictions may damp me, they cannot destroy ; 
One glimpse of Thy love turns them all into joy: 
And the bitterest tears, if Thou smile but on 

Like dew in the sunshine, grow diamond and 


Let doubt then, and danger, my progress oppose ; 
They only make heaven more sweet at the close. 
Come joy, or come sorrow, whate'er may befal, 
An hour with my God will make up for it all. 

A scrip on my back, and a staff in my hand, 
I march on in haste through an enemy's land : 
The road may be rough, but it cannot be long ; 
And I'll smooth it with hope, and I '11 cheer it 
with son"-. 


iTo a Blatnc of ©rass 

Poor little twinkler in the sun, 
That liftest here thy modest head 

For every breeze to blow upon, 
And every passing foot to tread • 

The loneliest waste, the humblest bower, 
Content in homely green to dress, 

And wear away thy little hour 
In meek unheeded usefulness ; 

Xo hues of thine attract the eye, 
Xo sweets allure the roving bee, 

Xor deigns the dainty butterfly 
To rest his wing on lowly thee. 


All undistinguished and forgot 
Among the myriads of thy kind, 

The moral of thy tranquil lot 
Thou wastest on the idle wind. 

Be mine, while others pass thee by. 

To win and wear thee in my strain ; 
And from thy gentle teaching try 

A lesson for my heart to gain. 

While brighter children of the sun 
With altering seasons droop and die, 

I see thee green and gladsome run 
Through all the changes of the sky. 

Where vegetative life begins 
Thy little flag is first unfurled. 

And marks the empire Nature wins 
From desolation round the world. 


Nature claims thee for her own ; 
Her thousand children house with thee : 
An insect world, to eye unknown, 

Peoples thy coverts blithe and free. 

The partridge, 'midst her speckled brood, 
Leans upon thee her cowering breast ; 

Thou giv'st the field-mouse home and food ; 
Thou curtain'st round the sky-lark's nest. 

Thou feed'st the honest steer by day, 
Thou strew'st at night his open bed ; 

The young lamb, in his morning play, 

Strikes down the dew-drop from thy head. 

( )h, ever pleasing, ever plain, 

Creation's goodly household vest ! 

By thee is fringed the ruined fane, 
By thee the poor man's grave is drest. 


The pilgrim of the sandy waste, 
The roamer of the long, long sea, 

The sick-room's or the dungeon's guest — 
'T is his, 't is his, to value thee. 

Green soother of the burning eye, 

Thou speak'st of sweet and simple things- 

Of freedom, health, and purity, 
And all that buxom Nature brings. 

Be mine to dwell with her. with thee ; 

At eventide the fields to roam ; 
My God among His works to see, 

And call my wandering spirit home : 

And, while I view the Hand, that tends 
Ten thousand worlds, so kind to thee, 

To feel that He. who so descends, 
Will not o'erlook a worm like me. 


& jFallcn Sister 

' The maid is not dead, but sleefeth 

She is not dead — she only sleeps : 

Life in her soul its vigil keeps : 

Though dark the cloud, though strong the chain. 

Speak, Lord, and she shall live again ! 

Shu is not dead : — it cannot be 
That one, whose soul so glowed to Thee, 
Should all that \s past renounce, forget : 
Oh, speak, and she will hear Thee yet. 

I know, I know how once she felt, 
Have seen her spirit mount and melt ; 
Have joined with her in praise and prayer ; 
And cannot, dare not, yet despair. 


She that has fed on heavenly food, 
Conversed with all that 's great and good, 
Can she descend from heights like these 
To the poor worldling's husks and lees l 

She, that has bent at Heaven's high throne, 
And claimed its glories for her own, 
An earthworm here again to crawl ? — 
She cannot long so deeply fall. 

I know how many for her feel, 
And plead with Thee to come and heal : 
I know the power of faith and prayer, 
And cannot, will not, yet despair. 

Sunk as she is in thoughtless sin, 

Thou hast a still, small voice within — 

A silent hold — a hidden plea — 

That needs but quickening, Lord, from Thee. 


A look of Thine can life impart; 
A tone of Thine can touch the heart : 
The very grave Thy voice must hear : 
( )h, bid it reach our sister's ear ! 

Press on her soul each pang and scorn, 
Which Thou for her of old hast borne \ 
And ask how she will dare to meet 
Thy face upon a Judgment-seat. 

Talk to her heart, and bid her feel ; 
Send forth Thy word to wound and heal ; 
Melt off her spirit's icy chain, 
And bid her rise and live again. 

She is not dead : Thy voice Divine 
Can still revive, and seal her Thine ; 
And 'neath Thy wing she yet ma}' dwell, 
More meek, more safe, than ere she fell. 


STfjje Sailor's fHetiitatton, en TOatcfj 
at faisW 

Above me hangs the silent sky : 

Around me rolls the sea ; 
The crew is all at rest ; and I 

Am, Lord, alone with Thee ! 

Go where I may, from all remote, 

Thou, Lord, art ever near : 
Xo secret thought, but Thou canst note ; 

No word, but Thou canst hear. 

When all around are sunk to sleep, 

Thy presence here I find : 
To me Thou walkest o'er the deep, 

Or speakest in the wind. 


I look up to the starry sky ; 

And read Thy glories there : 
I look down to myself, and sigh, 

' Can I be still Thy care V 

I think of days and dangers past, 
When I have found Thee nigh ; 

And wonder how Thy love can last 
To such a worm as I. 

I think of terrors yet at hand. 

Of Judgment, and the tomb ; 
And ask my soul how it shall stand 

To hear its final doom ! 

Ah, then, how all I Ve been, and done, 
Would fill me with despair, 

H to the Cross I could not run, 
And find a Saviour there ! 


I know He has the power to aid \ 

I know He has the will : 
And He, who once for sinners bled, 

Will rescue sinners still. 

Lord, arm my soul with faith in Thee, 
And fill my heart with love ; 

My path from sin and danger free, 
And guide me safe above. 

And while at night the waves I beat, 

Lord, often thus descend, 
And grant me here communion sweet 

With Thee, the sailor's Friend. 


Slje is gone! slje is gone! 

She is gone ! she is gone ! A God of love 
Has called her up to His side above : 
Has gathered the flower in all its prime, 
And bade it bloom in a brighter clime ; 
Has filled her hand with a heavenly lyre, 
And found her a place in His angel choir. 

She is gone ! she is gone to a land of light, 
Where the glorious day ne'er sinks in night : 
Where a cloud ne'er comes across the 
Where the tears are wiped from every eye ; 
Where all is holiness, love, and bliss, 
And none regret such a world as this. 


She is gone ! she is gone ! She passed away 

Like the dying close of a summer day : 

A dawn of glory around her shone, 

A light shot down from the Heavenly Throne : 

The last of her breath in song was spent, 

And forth in a smile her spirit went. 

She is gone ! she is gone to her high reward, 
To bask in the looks of her wished-for Lord. 
She gained one peep through the golden gate ; 
She saw the Seraphim for her wait ; 
And sprang from sorrow and sin away 
To dwell in the light of eternal day. 

She is gone ! she is gone ! And who would chain 

Her soul to a world like ours again ? 

But oh, the blank, the desolate void, 

In hearts that her converse here enjoyed ! 

They long from all upon earth to sever, 

And be with their loved and lost for ever. 

1 1 1 

She is gone ! she is gone but a while before, 
She waits for them at the heavenly door : 
They hear her calling them up on high ; 
They feel her drawing them on to the sky : 
And pray, at their parting hour to be 
As ripe, as ready, as blessed as she. 



Children of dew and sunshine, balmy flowers ! 

Ye seem like creatures of a heavenly mould 
That linger in this fallen earth of ours, 

Fair relics of her Paradise of old. 

Amidst her tombs and ruins, gentle things, 
Ye smile and glitter in celestial bloom : 

Like radiant feathers dropped from angel wings. 
Or tiny rainbows of a world of gloom. 

Yes ; there is heaven about you : in your breath 
And hues it dwells. The stars of heaven ye 
shine : 

Bright strangers in a land of sin and death. 
That talk of God, and point to realms divine. 


O mutely eloquent ! the heart may read 
In books like you, in tinted leaf or wing, 

Fragrance, and music, lessons that exceed 
The formal lore that graver pages bring. 

Ye speak of frail humanity : ye tell 

How man, like you, shall flourish and shall fall. 
But, ah ! ye speak of Heavenly Love as well, 

And say, the God of flowers is God of all. 

While Faith in you her Maker's goodness views 
Beyond her utmost need, her boldest claim, 

She catches something of your smiles and hues, 
Forgets her fears, and glows and smiles the 

Childhood and you are playmates; matching well 
Your sunny cheeks, and minding fragrant 



Ye help young Love his faltering tale to tell ; 
Ye scatter sweetness o'er the bed of Death. 

Sweet flowers, sweet flowers, be mine to dwell 
with you ! 
Ye talk of song and sunshine, hope and love : 
Ye breathe of all bright things, and lead us 
The best of earth to better still above. 

Sweet flowers, sweet flowers ! the rich exuberance 
Of Nature's heart in her propitious hours : 

When glad emotions in her bosom dance, 
She vents her happiness in laughing flowers. 

I love you, when along the fields in spring 
Your dewy eyes look countless from the turf; 

I love you, when from summer boughs you swing, 
As light and silvery as the ocean surf. 


I love your earliest beauties, and your last : 
Come when you may, you still are welcome 
here ; 

Flinging your sweets on Autumn's dying blast, 
Or weaving chaplets for the infant year. 

I love your gentle eyes and smiling faces, 
Bright with the sun, or wet with balmy 
showers \ 

Your looks and language in all times and places, 
In lordly gardens, or in woodland bowers. 

But most, sweet flowers, I love you, when ye talk 
As Jesus taught you when He o'er you trod ; 

And, mingling smiles and morals, bid us walk 
Content o'er earth to glory and to God. 


Hail to another year, 

The year that now begins ! 
All hail to Him who led us here 

Through dangers and through sins ! 

Hail to another year ! 

Peace to the year that 's past ! 
May this one at its close appear 
Less worthless than the last ! 

Hail to another year 1 

Ere round its wheels are driven, 
Each to the grave will stand more near- 
Will each be nearer heaven I 

Hail to another year ! 
Ere half its race is sped, 
Ourselves, with all we treasure here, 
May rest among the dead. 

Hail to another year ! 

Though yet unknown, untrod, 
Whate'er may come, we need not fear, 
If friends, through Christ, with God. 

Hail to another year, 

A year of peace and love ! 
Oh, may it prove a foretaste here 
Of endless years above ! 



'T was a sweet April morning : I traversed the 

Where my light foot in infancy often had played : 
Each object recalled to my lingering view 
The hours that there once so delightfully flew. 

Dear scenes of enchantment, for ever gone by! 
How brightly they danced before memory's eye ! 
I numbered their fugitive blisses all o'er : 
They were flown, and I sighed I had prized 
them no more. 

Oh, why is it thus, that we never discover 
The worth of our joys till possession is over I 
That we only can gaze on the sun of delight, 
When its fast-fading glories are setting in night \ 


All aimless and wild as the zephyr, we fleet 
O'er a thousand fair flow'rets that smile at our 

feet : 
Though they lure us to pluck them, and woo us 

to stay, 
We trample, we slight them, and flutter away. 

Then, when life brings its crosses, its cares, and 

its fears, 
When disaster beside and before us appears, 
Then we pause, and look back, and our folly 

discern \ 
Then we prize, bless, and mourn what can never 


When all that hope hung on for comfort is flown, 
When delights from the past must be gathered 

How dimly they shine through the distance of 

years ! 
How ill can they chase present shadows and tears ! 


Woe, woe to the heart, that is destined to ache 
In a world whose gay bustle it loathes to par- 
take ! 
Where nothing is left that is moving or dear, 
That can light up a smile, or elicit a tear! 

When conscience is sickened on looking within, 
When without there is little to wish or to win, 
When Memory shrinks back from the things that 

have been, 
And Hope looking onward grows pale at the scene, 

Oh, where to find comfort? Oh, whither to fly, 
Scarce wishing to live, and yet dreading to die ? 
Thus helpless, thus reckless, pierced, lost, un- 

forgiven ; 
Heart-broken on earth, and desponding of 

heaven ! 

Lord, Thou canst give light in this hour of de- 
spair ; 
Canst ease us of anguish, or teach us to bear : 


And good is the pressure of pain and distress, 
If they lead to a Saviour to heal and to bless. 

'T is good that our props should from 'neath us 

be fled, 
If we drop into Arms Everlasting instead ; 
That thistles and thorns in our pathway should 

If they send us but on for repose to the skies. 

When all else is changing within and around, 
In God and His goodness no change can be 

In giving or taking His end is the same, 
His creatures to quicken, exalt, and reclaim. 

Such terrors to drive, and such love to allure, 
Lord, add but Thy grace, and the issue is sure. 
My trials may thicken, my comforts may flee ; 
I'm rich amid ruin with heaven and Thee. 


Efje flHarlti tencunceTj 

Go, worthless world ! I Ve tried and found 

Thy hollowness at last : 
I know thee now an empty sound, 

And spurn at all thou hast. 

Thy smiles, thy flatteries, thy deceit, 
I 've scanned them o'er and o'er. 

Go, other hearts to snare and cheat : 
Thou h oldest mine no more. 

I 've been thy dupe, I 've been thy scoff, 
For years I 've worn thy chain : 

My Saviour came and called me off, 
And I am free again : 


Free with the freedom Christ bestows ; 

Divinely, greatly free ; 
Redeemed from follies, sins, and woes ; 

Redeemed, false world, from thee ! 

Still must I linger 'mid thy slaves, 

A stranger yet a while ; 
Must toss on thy uncertain waves, 

And meet thy specious smile : 

The scoffs of pride, the snares of sense, 

Must still my firmness try ; 
Till Christ returns to call me hence 

To peace with Him on high. 

I know me weak, and prone to fall : 
Yet know, with Him my friend, 

I still may pass unhurt through all 
To glory in the end. 


And while my sojourn here I make. 

This, this my maxim be, — 
To love mankind for Jesus' sake, 

And spurn, false world, at thee. 

I2 5 

'Xa tfjis tfjg 3£tntotu8S to tfjg jJFrtentJ?' 


Oh, think, how He, whom thou hast wounded, 

Hast scourged, and scorned, and spit upon, 
Hath paid thy ransom, and compounded 

For thy distresses with His own ! 
How He, whose blood thy sins have spilt, 

Whose limbs they to the Cross have nailed, 
Hath freely borne thy load of guilt, 

And made supply where thou hast failed. 

He died, to save thy soul from dying ; 

Was bound Himself, to set thee free ; 
And where there was no power of flying, 

He came, and met the blow for thee ; 


And all this dying friend requires, 
For all His pity, all His pain, 

Are simple aims, and pure desires, 
And for His love like love again. 

Oh, loose then, Lord, my tardy tears, 

And break this fleshly rock asunder, 
And on my night of doubts and fears 

Pour a new day of joy and wonder. 
This deadness from my soul remove ) 

Melt down my icy unbelief; 
Let grief add feeling to my love, 

And love pluck out the sting from grief. 

Then rise, poor earthworm, from the dust \ 
Enjoy thy new and large condition ; 

Walk with thy God in humble trust, 
And ripen for His full fruition. 

I2 7 

No more rebellious, dark, exiled, 

Adore, and love, and praise Him rather ■ 

Return a lost, but contrite, child, 
And find a kind, forgiving Father. 


3Tfr e Infant's Stress to tjeparttng 

Beautiful Day-light, stay, oh, stay, 
Nor fly from the world and me away, 
To darken the skies, so blue and bright, 
And take the green fields from my lonely sight. 
No birds then will talk to me from the tall tree, 
Nor flowers appear looking and laughing on me. 
Kind voices I hear, and kind faces I view ; 
But I can't talk with them, little birds, as witli 

you : 
I know not their language, their ways, and their 

Nor care for their candles, pens, pencils, and 

Then, beautiful Day-light, fly not yet ! 
Few suns have I ever seen rise or set ; 


And when each day with its pleasures is o'er, 
I fear they will never come back any more. 
A stranger I am in this world below, 
And have much of itsw r onders to mark and know : 
I want to see more of each new fairy scene, 
To trace sounds and objects, and learn what 

they mean ; 
To gaze on the features of her in whose breast 
I am fed, and folded, and sung into rest, 
Who kisses me softly, and calls me her dear, 
And all the new friends that are kind to me here. 
Then stay, sweet Daydight, mine eyes to bless ! 
I know Night little, and love it still less. 
The place that I came from had nothing of shade, 
In beauty and glory for ever arrayed : 
There angel forms were smiling and singing, 
And waving their wings in the Day-light springing 
From God's own face, like a fountain flowing 
With ravs sun and moon must fail in bestowing. 


I scarcely remember that land of bliss ; 
But I love what is brightest and purest in this : 
And if upon one of those clouds I could lie, 
That have run to the verge of the western sky, 
And there, in rosy companionship seated, 
Look down on the sun from earth retreated ; 
If aloft in its bright fleecy folds I could lay me, 
And call on the winds through the skies to 

convey me, 
I 'd ride round the world the perennial attendant 
On Day-light, whereveritshone mostresplendent; 
Over hills, over fogs, I would take my glad flight, 
And bathe and revel in rivers of light. 
The moon and the stars I would leave behind ; 
Nor stoop any object on earth to mind ; 
Unless for her baby dear mother should cry : 
Then I 'd glide down to tell her how happy was I ; 
I 'd kiss off her tears, and wish her good day, 
And again on my travels away, away ! 

Sweet bird, thy suit it is vain to press, 
The Day-light heeds not thy fond address ; 
On glittering pinion away he hies, 
To meet other wishes, and light other skies : 
The will of his God he goes to obey, 
Xor at earthly bidding will haste or stay. 
A child of light, sweet bird, thou art now, 
Xor needest a veil for thy conscious brow : 
Xo deeds thy tiny hands have done 
X"eed fear the broad eye of the flaring sun ■ 
And the pleasant and pure of this world of woe, 
Is all thy delicate spirit can know. 
But ah, my baby ! the day may appear 
When the light shall be loathed as it now is dear ; 
When thy red-rolling eye, that can weep no 

The relief of night shall in vain implore ! 
The billows and storms of a heart-breaking world 
O'er each young illusion too soon may be hurled ; 


May wring thee, may wreck thee, till all is riven, 

But the friendship of God and the refuge of heaven. 
Yet baby, my baby, if these shall be thine, 
Thou 'It not want a spot where thy head may 

recline ; 
Thou 'It not want a light in this world of dismay 
To guide thee from danger, or solace thy way : 
The bright Sun of Righteousness never declines, 
The light of the Gospel eternally shines ; 
Adds zest to our joys, plucks the sting from 

our w r oes, 
Lends peace to our life, and joy to its close. 
This light, my boy, be it thine to prize ! 
It ne'er will withdraw from thy favoured eyes : 
Come joy, or come sorrow, the same it will stay, 
And shine more and more to the perfect day ; 
Till grace is glory, and faith is sight, 
And God, as at first, 'mid His sons of light, 
Receives His homage of song and love, 
And thou art with Him for ever above. 


'It is E: be not aftati' 

Loud was the wind, and wild the tide ; 

The ship her course delayed : 
The Lord came to their help, and cried, 

'Tis I : be not afraid.' 

Who walks the waves in wondrous guise, 

By Nature's laws unstayed I 
' 'T is I,' a well-known voice replies ; 

"Tis 1 : be not afraid.' 

He mounts the deck : down lulls the sea 

The tempest is allayed ; 
The prostrate crew adore ; and He 

Exclaims, ' Be not afraid.' 


Thus, when the storm of life is high, 

Come, Saviour, to my aid ! 
Come, when no other help is nigh, 

And say, ' Be not afraid.' 

Speak, and my griefs no more are heard 
Speak, and my fears are laid • 

Speak, and my soul shall bless the word, 
"T is I : be not afraid.' 

When on the bed of death I lie, 
And stretch my hands for aid. 

Stand Thou before my glazing eye, 
And say, 'Be not afraid.' 

Before Thy judgment-seat above 
When nature sinks dismayed, 

Oh, cheer me with a word of love — 
"Tis I: be not afraid.' 


Worlds may around to wreck be driven, 

If then I hear it said, 
By Him who rules through earth and heaven, 

'Tis I : be not afraid." 


Inscription on a fHcnununt 

TO S — P — S — 

What shall we write on this memorial stone ? 
Thy merits ? Thou didst rest on Christ's alone. 
Our sorrows 1 Thou wouldst chide the selfish 

Our love 1 Alas, it needs no record here. 
Praise to thy God and ours ? His truth and 

Are sung in nobler strains by thee above. 
What wouldst thou have us write? — A voice is 

heard, — 
* Write, for each reader write, a warning word. 
' Bid him look well before him, and within ; 
k Talk to his heedless heart of death and sin ; 
' And if at these he tremble, bid him flee 
' To Christ, and find Him all in all, like me." 


I stand in a world where there 's nothing my 
Where the lightest event is beyond my con- 
trol ; 
But to Him that is Ruler supreme and alone 

I gladly resign, for I know Him, the whole. 
How pleasant, 'mid changes and chances un- 
On His wisdom and love to disburthen our 
care ; 
And to know, that the God who disposes our 
Is a God that will hear and will answer our 
prayer ! 


There are those that I love, far away from me 
And roaming through danger by shore and 
by sea ; 
And what were my feelings, my Father, if 
Wert less than Almighty for them and for 
I cannot command the wild winds to be still ; 
I cannot compel the dark waves to forbear ; 
But One is above them who can, and who will : 
In Him I am strong, for he answereth prayer. 

Ah me ! I gaze round me, — and what are the 
And the looks that give life all its zest and 
its soul? 
Mortality claims them, and sternly reviles 
Affection's vain struggle against her control. 


I own it, I feel it ; yet, humbled and awed, 
I still dare to love them, all frail as they are ; 

For I know we are both in the hands of our 
The Father of Jesus, the Hearer of prayer. 

Then here be my resting-place ! here will I sit 

Secure 'mid the shiftings of time and event : 
For Fate has no power but what He may permit, 

And the Hand that must take is the same that 
hath lent. 
On His wisdom and goodness I calmly rely ; 

Whate'er He assigns He can aid me to bear : 
He knows what is good for me better than I. 

And will give it, I hope, in despite of my 


2Tije pjcart in tune 

Be the heart in tune within, 

All without runs smooth and even, 
And earth's objects seem to win 

Something of the hues of heaven : 
Clouds from off our sky are flown ; 

All grows bright around and o'er us ; 
Life acquires a loftier tone, 

And hope dances light before us : 

Music comes in every gale; 

Flowers in all our paths are blowing; 
Prosperous winds fill every sail ; 

Tides are ever fair and flowing : 

i 4 i 

Time adds feathers to his wing ; 

Grief of half his load is lightened ; 
Life's distresses lose their sting, 

And its every joy is heightened. 

Then the waste, where'er we roam. 

Gushes with refreshing fountains ; 
Then between us and our home 

Ope the seas, and sink the mountains : 
Faith is strong, and views are clear ; 

Foes or fears no more confound us ; 
Ministering angels near, 

And an Eden opening round us : 

Nature through her wide domain 
Quits her air of ruined sadness. 

Kindles into smiles again, 

Wakes anew to song and riadnes 


God amid His works appears, 

Calls His creatures to adore Him : 

And this world of sin and tears 
Blossoms as the rose before Him. 

If His gospel then be heard, 

Soon the inmost soul it reaches ; 
God speaks home in every word, 

Christ again in person teaches ; 
Every promise is applied, 

Power to every precept given, 
And the Spirit and the Bride 

Point and woo us on to heaven. 

Prayer and praise are easy then, 

From the soul spontaneous flowing ; 

And with love to God and men 
Tenderly the heart is glowing. 


All our duties ligl _ ow : 

And from light to light v. _ 
To the fulness f sab ..don. 

Be our iver such. 

Tuned into harmonious meet ess 3 
Till their chords to every touch 

Answer in some tone *ssj 

Quickened by celes 

Purified of ea] 
Shining, like the Prophet's face, 

With a dory caught from heave 


Domestic 3Lobe 


How lovely is domestic harmony, 
Where mind on mind and heart on heart repose 
Undoubting: and the friends, whom Providence 
Has cast together, sharing each with each 
Their hopes, their joys, their cares, appear to live 
One common life, and breathe one common will ! 
This fallen world brings forth no other flower 
So beautiful as this ; and where the love 
Of God is added to this love of man, 
Somewhat of heaven itself to earth descends. 
For what is heaven, but one immortal home, 
Where all are brother, Parent, child, or friend. 


And all are happy, loving and beloved ? 
And what is hell, but the abode of hate 
And envy, where discordant elements 
Mingle, and hiss, and jar eternally? 
Bright comes the morn and soft descends the 

On the fair dwelling-place of love and peace ; 
And from the buffetings of this rude world 
Its happy inmates, like the wandering dove 
Home to her ark, for refuge there can fly. 
Prayer meets no hindrance there ; and praise 

from thence, 
Of hearts and lips in unison, ascends 
More acceptable to the God of love. 
The idol Self is from his throne cast down, 
And God set up instead ; and where He reigns 
There must be happiness, there must be heaven. 


Sati ©fjousfjts 

Yes, I am calm, am humbled now ; 

The storm is rocked to rest ; 
And I have learnt my head to bow, 

And count my lot the best. 

I would not struggle with my God, 
Or chide what He has given : 

Why should I murmur at the rod 
That drives me on to heaven 1 

Yet withering thoughts at times will break 

Across my calmer frame ; 
And then I feel how hearts may ache, 

Though still they bow the same. 


Dark moods, too long and fondly nursed, 

Will o'er me come unsought : 
And thou, ah thou, beloved the first, 

To be the last forgot ! 

I meet thy pensive, moonlight face \ 

Thy thrilling voice I hear ; 
And former hours and scenes retrace, 

Too fleeting, and too dear ! 

Then sighs and tears flow fast and free, 
Though none is nigh to share \ 

And life has nought beside for me 
So sweet as this despair. 

There are crushed hearts that will not break 

And mine, methinks, is one ; 
Or thus I should not weep and wake, 

And thou to slumber srone. 


I little thought it thus could be 

In days more sad and fair — 
That earth could have a place for me, 

And thou no longer there. 

We met in childhood's morning road ; 

Our love with life began ; 
And on through years the current flowed, 

And deepened as it ran. 

Yes : on we loved, and loved the same, 

Though little either said : 
It burned, that sad and secret flame, 

Like lamps among the dead. 

I knew her heart was all my own ; 

She knew the same of mine ; 
Though caution guarded every tone, 

And checked each outward sign. 


To selves or others unexpressed, 
The truth within us waked — 

A conscious wound in either breast, 
That inly bled and ached. 

At last^it came, the day to part ! 

And feelings, long repressed, 
In bitter shrift from heart to heart 

Were all at length expressed. 

That trying hour all barriers broke ; 

A frenzy o'er me fell : 
Spirit to spirit briefly spoke, 

And then — Farewell ! Farewell ! 

From that dark day I walked alone 
In this wide world of care, 

My widowed heart regardless grown 
Of aught that wooed it there. 


Its joys and griefs I learned to view 

Without a smile or sigh ; 
And nought seemed left me now to do, 

But lay me down and die. '. 

Bereavement was not long her dower ; 

She feels no more its sway : 
She pined, she drooped, my severed flower ! 

And passed from earth away. 

No plaint she breathed, no pain confessed, 

But calmly fell asleep ; 
She stole into her grave for rest, 

And left me here to weep. 

While thou wert here, there was a hope, 

All dimly as it shone : 
T is gone ! and I am left to cope 

With this cold world alone. 


Yet death cannot our hearts divide, 
Or make thee less my own. 

T were sweeter sleeping at thy side 
Than watching here alone. 

Yet never, never can we part, 
While Memory holds her reign : 

Thine, thine is still this withered heart, 
Till we shall meet again. 

That meet we shall, I do not fear : 
The thought was joy to thee : 

And I have now but little here 
To part my God and me. 

I feel, too, in my darkest mood, 
How much my soul has won : 

I know 't was needful all, and good ; 
And say, ' Thy will be done ! ' 


Still, thoughts like these at times will come, 

My firmness to surprise. 
When shall I be with thee at home. 

Beyond the reach of sighs I 


{Heading for fHcrcg 

When at Thy footstool, Lord, I bend, 

And plead with Thee for mercy there, 
O think Thou of the sinner's Friend, 

And for His sake receive my prayer ! 
O think not of my shame and guilt, 

My thousand stains of deepest dye : 
Think of the blood which Jesus spilt, 

And let that blood my pardon buy. 

Think, Lord, how I am still Thy own, 
The trembling creature of Thy hand ; 

Think how my heart to sin is prone, 
And what temptations round me stand. 


O think how blind and weak am I, 
How strong and wily are my foes : 

They wrestled with Thy hosts on high \ 
How should a worm their might oppose i 

O think upon Thy holy word, 

And every plighted promise there — 
How prayer should evermore be heard, 

And how Thy glory is to spare. 
O think not of my doubts and fears, 

My strivings with Thy grace divine : 
Think upon Jesus' woes and tears, 

And let His merits stand for mine. 

Thine eye, Thine ear, they are not dull ; 

Thine arm can never shortened be : 
Behold me here — my heart is full — 

Behold, and spare and succour me. 


No claim, no merits, Lord, I plead ; 

I come a humbled helpless slave : 
But, ah ! the more my guilty need, 

The more Thy glory, Lord, to save. 

1 5 6 

&o eUzn 




Ah ! wherefore should the silent tear 
Down Ellen's youthful visage stray, 

When such a Hand unseen is near 
To wipe each falling drop away ; 

A hand that bears a balm from high, 

For every earthly tear and sigh ? 

And wherefore mourn a parent's doom, 
When such a Parent from above 

Extends His arms and bids her come, 

And dwell with Him whose name is Love ; 

Who ne'er that orphan will disown, 

Whom Jesus' blood has made His own ! 


That gentle Hand, ah ! would she see 
And prove its power to soothe and heal ! 

Ah ! would she to that Father flee, 

And know how well He loves her weal ! 

Ah ! would she learn how sweet it is 

Through Christ to be for ever His ! — 

Come, then, and give that heart to Him, 
Which long has dwelt on meaner things : 

Come, find thy song a worthier theme, 
And learn to soar on loftier wings. 

He who has died that thou mightst live, 

Deserves the best 't is thine to give. 

The Spirit seeks to live thy Friend, 
And Christ thy brother deigns to be ; 

The joys, that know nor bounds nor end, 
To thy possession all are free. 

Whate'er is lovely, pure, or great, 

On Ellen now vouchsafes to wait. 

i 5 8 

Expectant angels cry, 'O come !' 

And saints prepare their gladdest song, 

Those wandering feet to welcome home, 
Which fifteen years have strayed too long : 

Come, then, and all shall triumph o'er 

One dear, lost, rescued sinner more. 


©n Steaming of mg fHotfjer 

Stay, gentle shadow of my mother, stay : 

Thy form but seldom comes to bless my sleep. 
Ye faithless slumbers, flit not thus away, 

And leave my wistful eyes to wake and weep. 
( )h ! I was dreaming of those golden days 

When, will my guide, and pleasure all my aim, 
I rambled wild through childhood's flowery maze, 

And knew of sorrow scarcely by her name. 
Those scenes are fled ! and thou, alas, art fled, 

Light of my heart, and guardian of my youth ! 
Then come no more to slumbering fancy's bed, 

To aggravate the pangs of waking truth : 
Or, if kind sleep these visions will restore, 
Oh, let me sleep again, and never waken more ! 


'5t tfotfjr not get appear foljat toe 
sfjall 6e' 

Ye lingering hours, wheel swift away, 
And usher in the joyful day, 
When, rising from a world like this, 
My soul shall dwell where Jesus is ! 

Too long I Ve waited here below, 
And spread my wings, and sighed to go ! 
Too long I 've cried, Blest Saviour, come. 
And bear me to Thyself and home ! 

How favoured they, who once on earth 
Enjoyed Thy converse, felt Thy worth ; 
Who had Thee for their friend and guest, 
And leaned their heads upon Thy breast ! 


How blest, to look up in Thy face, 
And there Thy Father's image trace 1 
To hear the music of Thy tongue, 
And learn from thence how angels sung ! 

A lot like this is not for me, 
On earth to thus converse with Thee : 
And tell what I have seen, and heard, 
And handled, of the Incarnate Word. 

Yet do I hope at last to rise, 
And join my Lord above the skies ; 
Close by His feet to take my place, 
And see and praise Him face to face ; 

To view Him 'mid His flock, and share 
With them the mighty Shepherd's care ; 
To hear His saints their tributes pay, 
And be myself as loud as they. 



Till time shall bring this glad event 
I linger here in banishment : 
And but for what I taste of Him, 
My lot were yet more blank and dim. 

But through the gloom at times He looks. 
My hopes revives, my fears rebukes. 
And bids me here a foretaste prove 
Of all I seek with Him above. 

Then haste, ye lingering hours, away. 
And bring the full unclouded day, 
That bears me from a world like this, 
And lands me safe where Tesus is ! 

H'.-.v .::;-. v.;u". ' I ::-:•: v.-?.trt :'".•; v,-;;.;,;.,;,-; rtSt. 

And hide all my cares in Thj 

me a captive while banished from Thee. 

Ar.'i :;'•: :r. :: H-jivtr.. ir. : . f:.;r. v.-; ..". ; ". -_- .'-.-_;-.._- 


Temptation and trouble alike shall de: 


Soon, soon may this Eden of promise be mine ! 
Rise, bright sun of glory, no more to decline ! 
Thy light, yet unrisen, the wilderness cheers. 
Oh, what will it be, when the fulness appears ! 

i6 5 

JFtientJS last in 1833 

Gone ? — Have ye all then gone, — 
The good, the beautiful, the kind, the dear? 
Passed to your glorious rest so swiftly on, 

And left me weeping here ? 

I gaze on your bright track ; 
I hear your lessening voices as ye go. 
Have ye no sign, no solace, to fling back 

To us who toil below? 

They hear not my faint cry ; 
Beyond the range of sense for ever flown, 
I see them melt into eternity, 

And feel I am alone. 

1 66 

Into the haven pass'd, 
They anchor far beyond the scathe of ill ; 
While the stern billow, and the reckless blast 

Are mine to cope with still. 

Oh ! from that land of love, 
Look ye not sometimes on this world of woe ? 
Think you not, dear ones, in bright bowers 

Of those you 've left below 1 

Surely ye note us here, 
Though not as we appear to mortal view ; 
And can we still, with all our stains, be dear 

To spirits pure as you '? 

Do ye not loathe, — not spurn, — 
The worms of clay, the slaves of sense and will I 
When ye from God and glory earthward turn, 

Oh ! can ye love us still I 


Or, have ye rather now- 
Drunk of His Spirit whom ye worship there, 
Who stripp'd the crown of glory from His brow, 

The platted thorns to wear ] 

Is it a fair fond thought, 
That you may still our friends and guardians be, 
And Heaven's high ministry by you be wrought 

With abjects low as we ? 

May we not sweetly hope 
That you around our path and bed may dwell ? 
And shall not all our blessings brighter drop 

From hands we loved so well ? 

Shall we not feel you near 
In hours of danger, solitude, and pain, 
Cheering the darkness, drying off the tear, 

And turning loss to gain I 

1 68 

Shall not your gentle voice 
Break on temptation's dark and sullen mood. 
Subdue our erring will, o'errule our choice. 

And win from ill to sood I 

O yes ! to us, to us 
A portion of your converse still be given : 
Struggling affection still would hold you thus, 

Nor yield you all to Heaven ! 

Lead our faint steps to God ; 
Be with us while the desert here we roam ; 
Teach us to tread the path which you have trod. 

To find with you our home ! 


Stanjas to 3, 3£; 

What strains are these, what sweet familiar 
From old Ierne o'er the waters wend ? 
Plow welcome, wakening from its lengthened 
Sounds the heart-music of my earliest Friend ! 
Well might that hand amid the chords have 
falter d, 
That voice have lost the power to melt and 
move : 
How pleasant, then, to find them still unalter'd, 
That lyre in sweetness, and that heart in love ! 

Shall not my tuneful powers, too long neglected, 
Revive to answer that persuasive call ? — 

Like the old harp that, mould'ring and rejected, 
Hangs up in silence in some lonely hall, 


When youth and beauty's train there re-assembles, 
And mirth and song once more begin to flow, 

Light o'er the chords a mimic music trembles, 
Responsive to the notes that swell below ! 

Ah me ! — what thoughts those few bold notes 
awaken, — 
Bright recollections of life's morning hours j 
Haunts long remembered, and too soon forsaken ; 

Days that fled by in sunshine, song, and 
flowers ; 
Old Clogher's rocks, our own sequester'd valley; 

Wild walks by moonlight on the sounding 
Hearts warm and free, light laugh, and playful 
All that has been, — and shall return no more — 

No more, — no more, — moods ever new and 
Feelings that forth in song so freely gush'd, 


Wing'd hopes, high fancies, thoughts unfetter'd 
Flowers which the world's cold ploughshare 
since has cruslrd. 
Dear early visions of departed gladness, 

Ye rise, ye live a moment in that strain, 

A gleam of sunshine on life's wintry sadness, 

Ah ! why so bright, to flit so soon again 1 

Friend of my heart ! — since those young visions 

We 've trod a chequer' d path of good and ill ; 
We 've seen the wreck of much that once we 

But not the wreck of love and friendship still. 
Xo, hand in hand we've met life's stormy weather, 

Sustain'd the bufferings of foe and friend, 
And hand in hand and heart in heart together, 

We '11 help and cheer each other to the end. 


Strike then the chords!— alas, too rarely stricken, 

And I will answer in my humbler style : 
Xo voice like thine can soothe, can urge, can 
quicken, — 

Why has it been so little heard ere while 1 
Yes, strike the chords ! high thoughts and aims 
inspiring ; 

And up the narrow way we'll homeward move, 
Mingling our pilgrim songs, and here acquiring 

New hearts and voices for the songs above. 

Berryhead, 1840. 

L / J 

Sea Cfjattges 

From shore to shore the waters sleep, 

Without a breath to move them ; 
And mirror many a fathom deep 

Rocks round, and skies above them. 
I catch the sea-bird's lightest wail 

That dots the distant billow, 
And hear the flappings of the sail 

That lull the sea-boy's pillow. 

Anon — across the glassy bay 

The catspaw gusts come creeping ; 

A thousand waves are soon at play. 
In sunny freshness leaping. 


The surge once more talks round the shore, 
The good ship walks the ocean ; 

Seas, skies, and men all wake again 
To music, health, and motion. 

But now the clouds, in angry crowds, 

On Heaven's grim forehead muster, 
And wild and wide sweeps o'er the tide 

The white squall's fitful bluster. 
The stout ship heels, the brave heart reels 

Before the 'whelming breaker \ 
And all in nature quakes, and feels 

The presence of its Maker. 

Oh, glorious still in every form, 

Untamed, untrodden ocean ; 
Beneath the sunshine, or the storm, 

In stillness, or commotion ; 


Be mine to dwell beside the swell, 
A witness of thy wonders ; 

Feel thy light spray around me play, 
And thrill before thy thunders ! 

While yet a boy I felt it joy 

To gaze upon thy glories ; 
I loved to ride thy stormy tide, 

And shout in joyous chorus. 
With calmer brow I haunt thee now, 

To nurse sublime emotion \ 
My soul is awed and filled with God, 

By thee, majestic ocean ! 



Ba&iVs tfjree fHtgfjtg ©tus 

' And David longed, and said, Ok that one would give me 
drink of the ivater of the well of Bethlehem, which is by the 

gate!' — 2 Sam. xxiii. 15 

Faint on Rephaim's sultry side 

Sat Israel's warrior-king ; 
' Oh for one draught,' the hero cried, 

6 From Bethlehem's cooling spring ! — 
From Bethlehem's spring, upon whose brink 
My youthful knee bent down to drink ! 

' I know the spot, by yonder gate, 

Beside my father's home, 
Where pilgrims love at eve to wait, 

And girls for water come. 
Oh for that healing water now, 
To quench my lip, to cool my brow ! 


• But round that gate, and in that home. 

And by that sacred well, 
Xow hostile feet insulting roam, 

And impious voices swell. 
The Philistine holds Bethlehem's halls, 
While we pine here beneath its walls.' — 

Three gallant men stood nigh, and heard 
The wish their king expressed ; 

Exchanged a glance, but not a word, 
And dash'd from 'midst the rest. 

And strong in zeal, with ardour flushed, 

They up the hill to Bethlehem rushed. 

The foe fast mustering to attack, 
Their fierceness could not rein ; 

Xo friendly voice could call them back. — 
' Shall David long in vain ? 

Long for a cup from Bethlehem's spring, 

And none attempt the boon to bring V 


i 7 8 

And now the city gate they gain, 

And now in conflict close ; 
Unequal odds ! three dauntless men 

Against unnumbered foes. 
Yet through their ranks they plough their way 
Like galleys through the ocean spray. 

The gate is forced, the crowd is pass'd ; 

They scour the open street ; 
While hosts are gathering fierce and fast 

To block up their retreat. 
Haste back ! haste back, ye desperate Three ! 
Or Bethlehem soon your grave must be ! 

They come again ; — and with them bring — 
Nor gems nor golden prey ; 

A single cup from Bethlehem's spring- 
Is all they bear away ; 

And through the densest of the train 

Fight back their glorious way again. 


( )'er broken shields and prostrate foes 
They urge their conquering course. 

Go, try the tempest to oppose, 
Arrest the lightning's force ; 

But hope not, Pagans, to withstand 

The shock of Israel's chosen band ! 

Hurrah ! hurrah ! again they 're free : 

And 'neath the open sky, 
On the green turf they bend the knee, 

And lift the prize on high ; 
Then onward through the shouting throng 
To David bear their spoil along. 

All in their blood and dust they sink 

Full low before their king. 
'Again,' they cry, 'let David drink 

Of his own silver spring ; 
And if the draught our lord delight, 
His servants 1 toil 'twill well requite.' 


With deep emotion David took 
From their red hands the cup ; 

Cast on its stains a shuddering look, 
And held it heavenward up. 

1 I prize your boon,' exclaimed the king, 

' But dare not taste the draught you bring. 

* I prize the zeal that perhTd life, 

A wish of mine to crowm ; 
I prize the might that in the strife 

Bore foes by thousands down : — 
But dare not please myself with aught 
By Israel's blood and peril bought. 

'To Heaven the glorious spoil is due ; 

And His the offering be, 
Whose arm has borne you safely through, 

My brave, but reckless, Three ! ' — 
Then on the earth the cup he pour'd, 
A free libation to the Lord. 


There is a well in Bethlehem still, 

A fountain, at whose brink 
The weary soul may rest at will, 

The thirsty stoop and drink : 
And unrepelled by foe or fence 
Draw living waters freely thence. 

Oh, did we thirst, as David then, 

For this diviner spring ! 
Had we the zeal of David's men 

To please a Higher King ! 
What precious draughts we thence might drain, 
What holy triumphs daily gain ! 

I 82 

a Recall to mg CljiitJ a. fH. 

JUNE I, 1839 

Come back, come back, my blessed child ! 

Come home, my own light-hearted ! 
Papa, they say, has rarely smiled 

Since from his side you parted. — 
That face which beams like opening day, 

That laugh which never wearies ; 
Why do they linger still away I 

Come home, dear girl, and cheer us ! 

I saunter sadly through my hours. — 
They want one voice to mend them ; 

A spell is o'er my drooping flowers, — 
They pine for you to tend them. 


The fairest now look all amiss, 
Too clingy, or too flaunting. — 

And are they changed ? ah, no, 't is this- 
The sweetest flower is wanting ! 

Young spring at last, despite the shocks 

Of winters lingering bluster, 
Has flung her mantle o'er our rocks, 

And clothed our hills with lustre. 
Music, and balm, and beauty play 

In all around and o'er us. 
• Come, truant, come,' all seem to say : 

' Come, join our happy chorus.' 

c Come,' cries the cowslip's fading bell ; 

* Come,' cries the ripening cherry ; 
1 Come, ere the bloom in every dell 

Is turn'd to pod and berry ; 

1 84 

Come, ere the cuckoo change his tone ; 

Ere from her nest the linnet, 
With all her little ones, is flown, 

And you 've ne'er peep'd within it.' 

The sun sets not so brightly now, 

Across the golden w ? ater, 
As when it gleam' d upon the brow 

Of my loved absent daughter. 
Home has no more its cheerful tone, 

Its healthful hue about it : — 
When from the lyre one chord is gone 

The rest sound ill without it. 

Come back ; the city's flaunting crowd, 
The concert's formal measures, 

The din of fashion, false and loud, 
Are not like nature's pleasures. — 


These, these alone, the heart can touch, 

Are simplest and sincerest. 
You have an eye, a soul for such : 

Come home, and share them, dearest. 

Come, at my side, again to walk 

Beside the fresh'ning billow. 
Come, where the waves all night will talk 

To you upon your pillow. 
Come, where the skiff on sunny seas 

For you is lightly riding ; 
Where health and song in every breeze 

My absent girl come chiding. 

Come back ! we all from your glad eyes 
Xew light and life will borrow. 

'T is not papa alone that sighs, 
• Why leave me to my sorrow?' 

1 86 

Each, all, in your loved converse miss 
Some wonted source of pleasure, 

From look, or tone, or smile, or kiss : 
Come home, come home, my treasure ! 


IDccIfntnrj Sags 

' Qjiodsi vita est optanda sapient i, profecto nullam aliam ob 
causam vivere optavcrim, quam ut aliquid efficiaw, quod vita 
digunin sit ; et quod titilitatem legentibus, etsi nou ad eloquen- 
tiam, quia tenuis in nobis eloquentice rivusest, advivendum ta/neu 
adferat : quod est maxhne necessarium. Quo profecto, satis vie 
vi.xisse arbitrabor, et officium honiinis i/nplesse, si labor metis 
aliquos homines ab erroribus liberates, ad iter cocleste direxerit.' — 
Lactantius, De Opif. Dei, cap. x.w 

Why do I sigh to find 
Life's evening shadows gathering round my way? 
The keen eye dimming, and the buoyant mind 

Unhinging day by day % 

Is it the natural dread 
Of that stern lot, which all who live must see \ 
The worm, the clay, the dark and narrow bed, — 

Have these such awe for me I 


Can I not summon pride 
To fold my decent mantle round my breast ; 
And lay me down at nature's Eventide, 

Calm to my dreamless rest ? 

As nears my soul the verge 
Of this dim continent of woe and crime, 
Shrinks she to hear Eternity's long surge 

Break on the shores of Time % 

Asks she, how she shall fare 
When conscience stands before the Judge's 

And gives her record in, and all shall there 

Know, as they all are known ] 

A solemn scene and time — 
And well may Nature quail to feel them near — 
But grace in feeble breasts can work sublime, 

And faith o'ermaster fear ! 

1 89 

Hark ! from that throne comes down 
A voice which strength to sinking souls can give. 
That voice all Judgment's thunders cannot drown ; 

' Believe,' it cries, l and live.' 

Weak — sinful, as I am. 
That still small voice forbids me to despond ; 
Faith clings for refuge to the bleeding Lamb, 

Nor dreads the gloom beyond. — 

'T is not, then, earth's delights 
From which my spirit feels so loath to part ; 
Nor the dim future's solemn sounds or sights 

That press so on my heart. 

No ! 't is the thought that I— 
My lamp so low, my sun so nearly set, 
Have lived so useless, so unmissed should die : — 

'Tis this, I now regret. — 


I would not be the wave 
That swells and ripples up to yonder shore ; 
That drives impulsive on, the wild wind's slave, 

And breaks, and is no more ! — 

I would not be the breeze, 
That murmurs by me in its viewless play, 
Bends the light grass, and flutters in the trees, 

And sighs and flits away ! 

No ! not like wave or wind 
Be my career across the earthly scene ; 
To come and go, and leave no trace behind 

To say that I have been. 

I want not vulgar fame — 
I seek not to survive in brass or stone ; 
Hearts may not kindle when they hear my name, 

Nor tears my value own. — 

I 9 I 

But might I leave behind 
Some blessing for my fellows, some fair trust 
To guide, to cheer, to elevate my kind 

When I was in the dust. 

Within my narrow bed 
Might I not wholly mute or useless be ; 
But hope that they, who trampled o'er my head, 

Drew still some good from me ! 

Might my poor lyre but give 
Some simple strain, some spirit-moving lay : 
Some sparklet of the Soul, that still might live 

When I was passed to clay ! — 

Might verse of mine inspire 
One virtuous aim, one high resolve impart ; 
Light in one drooping soul a hallow' d fire, 

Or bind one broken heart. — 


Death would be sweeter then, 
More calm my slumber 'neath the silent sod ; 
Might I thus live to bless my fellow-men, 

Or glorify my God ! 

Why do we ever lose, 
As judgment ripens, our diviner powers ? 
Why do we only learn our gifts' to use 

When they no more are ours ? 

O Thou ! whose touch can lend 
Life to the dead, Thy quick'ning grace supply, 
And grant me, swanlike, my last breath to spend 

In song that may not die ! 


Cfjc Doing Christian to fjts Soul 

Bird of my breast, away ! 
The long-wish'd hour is come ! 
On to the realms of cloudless day, 
On to thy glorious home ! 

Long has been thine to mourn 
In banishment and pain. 
Return, thou wand'ring dove, return, 
And find thy ark again ! 

Away, on joyous wing, 
Immensity to range ; 
Around the throne to soar and sing. 
And faith for sight exchange. 



Lo ! to the golden gate 
What shining thousands come ! 
My trembling Soul, for thee they wait. 
To guard and guide thee home. 

Hark ! from on high they speak, 
That bright and blessed train, 
' Rise, Heaven-born spirit, rise, and seek 
Thy rest in Heavenly gain. 

' Sweet are the songs above, 
Where hearts are all in tune ; 
They feed upon unfailing love. 
And bask in glory's noon. 

' Their struggles all are still, 
Their days of darkness o'er ; 
At rapture's fount they drink at will, 
And drink for evermore. 


' Flee, then, from sin and woe ; 
To joys immortal flee ; 
Quit thy dark prison-house below, 
And be for ever free ! ' 

I come, ye blessed throng, 
Your tasks and joys to share ; 
Oh, fill my lips with holy song, 
My drooping wing upbear. 

Friends of my heart, adieu ! 
I cannot weep to-day ; 
The tears that nature prompts for you 
Are dried in glory's ray. 

I see the King of kings, 
His glorious voice I hear. 
Oh, who can dwell on earthly things 
With Heaven so bright and near I 


Napoleon's ©tafce 


Disturb him not ! he slumbers well 

On his rock 'mid the western deep, 
Where the broad blue waters round him swell, 

And the tempests o'er him sweep. 
Oh, leave him where his mountain bed 

Looks o'er the Atlantic wave, 
And the mariner high in the far grey sky 

Points out Napoleon's grave ! 

There, 'midst three mighty continents 

That trembled at his word, 
Wrapt in his shroud of airy cloud, 

Sleeps Europe's warrior lord : 

i 9 7 

And there, on the heights, still seems to stand, 

At eve, his shadowy form \ 
His grey capote on the mist to float, 

And his voice in the midnight storm. 

Disturb him not ! though bleak and bare, 

That spot is all his own ; 
And truer homage was paid him there 

Than on his hard-won throne. 
Earth's trembling monarchs there at bay 

The caged lion kept ; 
For they knew with dread that his iron tread 

Woke earthquakes where he stept. 

Disturb him not ! vain France, thy clime 

Xo resting-place supplies, 
So meet, so glorious, so sublime, 

As that where thy Hero lies. 

Mock not that grim and mouldering wreck ! 

Revere that bleaching brow ! 
Nor call the dead from his grave to deck 

A puppet pageant now ! 

Born in a time when blood and crime 

Raged through thy realm at will, 
He waved his hand o'er the troubled land, 

And the storm at once was still. 
He reared from the dust thy prostrate state : 

Thy war-flag wide unfurl 1 d ; 
And bade thee thunder at every gate 

Of the capitals of the world. 

And will ye from his rest dare call 

The thunderbolt of war ! 
To grin and chatter around his pall, 

And scream your 'Vive la gloire?' 

i 9 9 

Shall melo-dramic obsequies 

His honoured dust deride ? 
Forbid it, human sympathies ! 

Forbid it, Gallic pride ! 

What ! will no withering thought occur, 

Xo thrill of cold mistrust, 
How empty all this pomp and stir 

Above a little dust ? 
And will it not your pageant dim, 

Your arrogance rebuke, 
To see what now remains of him, 

Who once the empires shook I 

Then let him rest in his stately couch 

Beneath the open sky, 
Where the wild waves dash, and the lightnings 

And the storms go wailing by. 


Yes, let him rest ! such men as he 
Are of no time or place ; 

They live for ages yet to be, 
Thev die for all their race. 


©race Darling's Dcatlj^ctj 

O wipe the death-dews from her brow ! — prop 

up her sinking head ! — 
And let the sea-breeze on her face its welcome 

freshness shed ! 
She loves to see the western sun pour glory o'er 

the deep • 
And the music of the rippling waves may sing 

her into sleep. 
Her heart has long, 'mid other scenes, for these 

pour'd out the sigh ; 
And now back to her highland home she comes 

— but comes to die. 


Yes, fearful in its loveliness, that cheek's pro- 
phetic bloom ; 

That lustrous eye is lighted from a world beyond 
the tomb ; 

Those thin transparent fingers, that hold the 
book of prayer, 

That form, which melts like summer snow, too 
plainly speak despair. 

And they that tend around her bed, oft turn to 
wipe the tear, 

That starts forth, as they view her thus, so fleet- 
ing, and so dear. 

Not such was she that awful night when o'er 
Northumbrian foam 

The shipwreck'd seaman's cry was heard with- 
in that rocky home. 

Amid the pauses of the storm it loud and louder 


And thrilled into her inmost soul, and nerved 

her fragile frame. 
' Oh, father, let us launch the boat, and try their 

lives to save.' 
1 Be still, my child, we should but go to share 

their watery grave.' 

Again they shriek. ' Oh father, come, the Lord 

our guide will be : 
A word from Him can stay the blast, and tame 

the raging sea.' 
And lo ! at length her plea prevails ; their skiff 

is on the wave. 
Protect them, gracious Heaven ! protect the 

gentle, kind, and brave ! 
They reach the rock, and, wond'rous sight to 

those they succour there, 
A feeble girl achieving more than boldest men 

would dare ! 


Again, again her venturous bark bounds o'er 

the foaming tide ; 
Again in safety goes and comes beneath its 

Heavenly guide. 
Nor shrinks that maid's heroic heart, nor fails 

her willing hand, 
'Till all the remnant of the wreck are ferried 

safe to land. 
The cord o'erstrung relaxes then, and tears 

begin to fall ; — 
But tears of love and praise to Him, whose 

mercy saved them all, 

A deed like this could not be hid. Upon the 

wings of fame, 
To every corner of our isle, flew forth Grace 

Darling's name \ 
And tongues were loud in just applause, and 

bosoms highly beat, 


And tributes from the great and good were 

lavished at her feet ; 
While she, who braved the midnight blast, and 

rode the stormy swell, 
Shrank timid, trembling, from the praise that 

she had earned so well. 

Why did they tempt her forth to scenes she ill 
was formed to share ? 

Why bid her face the curious crowd, the ques- 
tion, and the stare 1 

She did not risk her life that night to earn the 
world's applause : 

Her own heart's impulse sent her forth in pity's 
holy cause. 

And richly were her toils repaid, and well her 
soul content 

With the sweet thought of duty done, of succour 
timely lent. 


Her tender spirit sinks apace. Oh, bear the 
drooping flower 

Back to its native soil again — its own secluded 
bower ! 

Amidst admiring multitudes, she sighs for home 
and rest : 

Let the meek turtle fold her wing within her 
own wild nest \ 

And drink the sights and sounds she loves, and 
breathe her wonted air, 

And find with them a quiet hour for thought- 
fulness and prayer ! 

And she has reach'd her sea-girt home — and she 

can smile once more \ 
But ah, a faint and moonlight smile, without the 

glow of yore ! 
The breeze breathes not as once it did upon her 

fever'd brow \ 


The waves talk on, but in her breast awake no 

echoes now : 
For vague and flickering are her thoughts, her 

soul is on the wing 
For Heaven, and has but little heed for earth 

or earthly thing. 

' My Father, dost thou hear their shriek % dost 

hear their drowning cry?' 
' Xo, dearest, no ; 't was but the scream of the 

curlew flitting by.' 
Poor panting, fluttering, hectic thing, thy tossings 

soon will cease, 
Thou art passing through a troubled sea, but to 

a land of peace ! 
And He, who to a shipwreck'd world brought 

rescue, O may He 
Be near thy dying pillow now, sweet Grace, to 

succour thee ! 


Eantjtngs for Pfonu 

Stern Britain, why a home deny 
To one who loves thee well as I ? 
Who woos thee with as warm a zeal 
As sons for tenderest mothers feel, 
Would hold to thee through good and ill, 
Yet finds thee but a Step-dame still 1 
Earth has for me no place of rest 
So dear as thy parental breast, 
No spot to which so close I cling 
As to the shelter of thy wing ; 
And yet thou spurn'st me from thee, yea, 
Spurn' st like a prodigal away ; 


Thou fling'st me suppliant from thy side, 
To float a wreck upon the tide ; 
A boundless world at will to roam. 
And sigh and think of thee and home ! 

Here, amidst fabled woods and streams. 
The classic haunts of youthful dreams, 
'Mid crumbling fanes and ruins hoary, 
Rich with the hues of ancient glory ; 
Where every hill and every dell 
Has its own stirring tale to tell, 
And thoughtful pilgrims oft compare 
The things that are with things that were. 
Yes, here, where seems so much combined 
To soothe the sense and fill the mind, 
All rich, all bright, around, above, 
And soft as is the voice of love, — 
While at my feet in silver flakes 
The evening billow gently breaks, — 


I stand and muse, and o'er the sea, 
My thoughts roam off to home and thee. 

O what is all that earth bestows, 
All that mere sense enjoys and knows, 
The fairest fields, the sunniest skies, 
To life's diviner charities ? 
Perchance this eve, so lovely here, 
In my own land is bleak and drear ; 
And clouded skies and blustry weather, 
Drive my own dear Ones close together ; 
And round the hearth their beaming faces 
Perhaps take now their wonted places, 
Each with his little social mite 
To aid the general stock to-night ; — 
His floweret on Time's path to fling, 
Or add a feather to his wing. 
Oh, loved Ones, at this happy season 
Of tender thought and social reason, 

21 I 

When hearts are full, and fancy free, 
Oh, do you sometimes think of me 1 — 
Think of your absent wanderer, who 
So fondly hangs on home and you, 
And would this moment rather share 
Your homely fireside converse there, 
And smile with you 'neath wintry skies, 
Than reign in this fair paradise ! 

Alas ! 't is by their loss alone 
Our truest blessings oft are known. 
If earth wears here a sunnier hue, 
Man is the plant that thrives with you ; 
A plant matured by want and toil, 
And noblest oft on poorest soil. 
Ifbleak your hills and rough your clime, 
They are not rank with weeds of crime ; 
The social virtues there take root, 
And freedom bears her richest fruit, 


While industry and skill supplies 
What niggard nature else denies. 
The poor man's rights have honour due, 
The wronged and weak redress with you. 
And boundless as yon rolling sea. 
Large as the world, your charity. 
Within your happy homes meanwhile 
Order, and peace, and comfort smile ; 
And fertile are your rugged lands 
In manly minds, and hearts, and hands, 
In generous aims and thoughts elate, 
And all that makes men good and great. 
And more than all to you is given 
High intercourse with God and heaven. 
Religion walking through your land 
Showers down her gifts with liberal hand, 
And bids the desert, as she goes, 
Rejoice, and blossom like the rose. 
This is thy glory, Britain ; this 


Makes thy fair Island what it is — 
With all its faults, in moral worth, 
The Eden of this fallen earth. 

Oh, gifts too lightly valued — how 
My thirsty soul would prize them now ! 
Those hallowed Sabbaths, calm and fair, 
That still well-ordered house of prayer, 
The call that bids the weary come, 
The ray that lights the wanderer home ; 
The Spirit's whisper from above, 
The still small voice of truth and love. 
when, my own loved lost Ones, when 
Shall we such blessings share again ? 
Drink of the sacred springs that flow 
With balm for every want and woe, 
Lift up our hearts in prayer and praise 
Bequeathed from wiser, better days, 


And round the Holy altar fare 

On food that Angels may not share I — 

When shall such joys be ours 1 From high 

Heard I a solemn voice reply : 

6 Live to your Saviour : watch and pray. 

Grow in His image day by day ; 

And know, the Souls which thus improve 

In meekness, duty, faith, and love, 

Though severed in this world of pain, 

In earth or Heaven shall meet again !' 

Naples, Christmas 1844. 

2Tf)0ugf)ts in EEieafeiuss 


Three mighty companies compose 

The armies of the Lord ; 
Upon His love they all repose, 

And wait upon His word. 
Unlike the offices they fill, 

The homage that they bring, 
But one their ceaseless object still — 

To glorify their King. 

The first in rank and station — they 

The bright angelic train, 
Who never bowed 'neath sorrow's sway. 

Nor felt corruption's stain. 


And yet they feel for man's distress, 

His every trial share, 
Nor spurn the meanest services 

To help salvation's heir. 

The next — a band of humbler birth, — 

But scarce of humbler place, 
Who fought and bled for Christ on earth, 

And triumphed through His grace. 
Their secret wrestlings, hidden life, 

To Him were not unknown : 
His arm sustained them through the strife, 

And now they share His throne. 

The last are they who still maintain 

The conflict here below, 
Whose portion still is sin and pain, 

The danger and the foe. 
They oft are foil'd, they oft despair, 

But help from high is given ; 


They struggle on through faith and prayer, 
And fight their way to heaven. 

And these — though poor and weak they be, 

The Saviour owns them still ; 
They serve Him, though imperfectly, 

And yearn to work His will. 
Temptation's tide they strive to stem, 

Though faith at times burns dim, 
Nor find the Lord deserting them, 

While they depend on Him. 

The world, the flesh, the Evil One, 

Assault them hour by hour ; 
And soon must all their hopes be gone, 

If left to Nature's power. 
But arm'd by Christ's own plighted word. 

When fiercest foes assail, 
They meet them with the Spirit's sword, 

Nor find the weapon fail. 


Oh, mighty is the power of prayer. 

The promise large and true ; 
The feeblest heart need not despair 

With these to bear it through. 
Though darkest clouds o'ercast the sky, 

Though wave call out to wave. 
Enough to know the Saviour nigh. 

To bless, to guide, to save. 

Shall flesh and blood presume to shrink 

While He vouchsafes to aid ? 
Shall nature hear that voice and sink, — 

"Tis I, be not afraid?' 
Behold — 't is Jesus walks the deck ; 

What fears our hearts o'erwhelm ? 
Can wildest waves the vessel wreck 

While He is at the helm ? 

Oh, strange our courage e'er should reel 
With Him so near and kind ; 


So often rescued, — yet to feel 

So trustless and so blind ! 
Oh, strange to know all Heaven to be 

Upon our side arrayed, 
All cheering, strengthening us, and we 

By every breath dismayed ! 

Go ask those victors now on high 

What help'd them on to Heaven — 
The very arms, they all reply, — 

To you as freely given. 
Our hearts, like yours, were faint and frail, 

Our foes as hard to tame ; 
But grace we found o'er all prevail. 

Oh, trv and find the same ! 



Yet think not, O my Soul, to keep 

Thy progress on to God, 
By any road less rough and steep 

Than that thy Fathers trod. 
In tears and trials thou must sow 

To reap in joy and love. 
We cannot find our home below, 

And hope for one above. 

No — here we labour, watch, and pray, 

Our rest and peace are there — 
God will not take the thorn away, 

But gives us strength to bear. 
The holiest, greatest, best have thus 

In wisdom learnt to grow : 
Yea, He that gave Himself for us 

Was perfected by woe. 

22 I 

Thou — Man of Sorrows, — Thou didst not 

The bitter cup decline. 
Why should I claim a better lot, — 

A smoother path than Thine ? 
Thou sought'st no treasure here on earth, 

Xo glory 'neath the skies ; 
And what Thou deem'dst so little worth, 

Shall I so highly prize? 

Did not reproach and wrong rain down 

Upon Thy hallowed head ; 
Didst Thou not strip off glory's crown 

To wear the thorns instead ? 
When foes reviled, didst Thou reply, 

Or render ill for ill ? 
Didst Thou for man bleed, faint, and die ; 

And shall I falter still \ 

In early life to Thee I was 
Consigned by solemn vow : 


Enlisted 'neath Thy Holy Cross, — 

Shall I desert it now % 
I then, 'gainst every hostile power, 

Engaged to follow Thee \ 
And shall I, at the trying hour, 

Be found the first to flee 1 

Thou didst not flee, O King of Love, 

When Thou wert sorely tried ; 
When all men fled, and God above 

Appeared His face to hide. 
Intent that guiltless Blood to shed 

That should for guilt atone, 
The mighty wine-press Thou didst tread, 

Unshrinking, though alone. 

And shall I murmur or repine 
At aught Thy hand may send ? 

To whom should I my cause resign, 
If not to such a Friend ? 


Where Love and Wisdom deign to choose, 

Shall I the choice condemn ; 
Or dare the medicine to refuse 

That is prescribed by them I 

Oh, small the gain when men aspire 

Their Maker to control. 
He gives, perhaps, their hearts' desire, 

And leanness to their soul. 
Not His to quench the smoking flax, 

Or break the bruised reed ; 
Or with one pang our patience tax, 

But what he knows we need. 

Yet must our steadfastness be tried, — 

Yet must our graces grow 
By holy warfare. What beside 

Did we expect below 1 
Is not the way to Heavenly gain 

Through earthly grief and loss ? 


Rest must be won by toil and pain — 
The Crown repays the Cross. 

As woods, when shaken by the breeze, 

Take deeper, firmer root, 
As winter's frosts but make the trees 

Abound in summer fruit ; 
So every Heaven-sent pang and throe 

That Christian firmness tries, 
But nerves us for our work below, 

And forms us for the skies. 



Away then causeless doubts and fears 

That weaken and enthral ; 
Wipe off, my Soul, thy faithless tears, 

And rise to duty's call. 
How much is there to win and do. 

How much to help and cheer ! 
The fields are white, the labourers few ; 

Wilt thou sit 'plaining here? 

Awake, my Soul, to duty wake ; 

Go pay the debt thou ow'st. 
Go forward, — and the night shall break 

Around thee as thou go'st. 
A Red Sea may before thee flow. 

Egyptian hosts pursue ; 


But He that bids thee onward go 
Will ope a pathway too. 

Swift fly the hours, and brief the time 

For action or repose \ — 
Fast flits this scene of woe and crime, 

And soon the whole shall close \ 
The evening shadows deeper fall, 

The daylight dies away. 
Wake, slumberer, at the Master's call, 

And work while it is day ! 

Rome, April 17, 1845. 


Ei}t Cjar in too me 

The mighty Caesar of the North 

Has entered Rome to-day. 
Why peal her bells no greetings forth, 

Her crowds no tributes pay ? 
' Stranger, we love the great and good ; 
But honour not the Man of blood ! 1 

- The Man of blood ! Can one so high 
Upon the lists of fame, 

1 In December 1845 the Emperor Nicholas of Russia, 
after being at Palermo and Naples, came to Rome, but 
met with no welcome or greeting there. His reputation 
had come before him, and all were indignant at his 
tyrannical conduct towards his Polish subjects, and his 
persecution of the unfortunate Roman Catholics in his 
dominions, whom he wished to compel to conform to the 
Greek Church. 


Who looks and moves thus royally, 

Deserve so dark a name?' 
' Yes ! let the pining Exile tell, 
The bleeding Martyr say, how well ! ' 

While through these streets he sweeps to-day, 

The gaze of thousand eyes, 
A victim of his iron sway 

In yonder convent lies, 1 
And pleads for her oppressor there. — 
O King of kings, fulfil her prayer ! 

The soul that looks through such an eye, 
That sits on such a brow ; 

1 One of the unfortunate nuns from the convent of 
Minsk, of whom more than thirty had perished under 
the frightful persecutions to which they were subjected, 
escaped from Russia, and found her way to Rome, and 
was thus in a great measure the means of informing the 
world of the cruelties that were going on in Russia. 


Must have its instincts rare and high, 

Though undeveloped now ; 
And moral music, strong and deep, 
Among its chords must surely sleep. 1 

And who shall say, within that breast 
What throes e'en now may work I 

Seems there no sign of strange unrest 
Beneath that brow to lurk ? 

Xo troubled wave to heave and roll 

O'er the proud stillness of his soul 1 

This morn St. Peter's courts he trod, 
With stately step and stern, 

Encounter'd there the man of God ; — 
And how did he return ? 

1 The Emperor Nicholas is said to be the finest-look- 
ing man in Europe. 


With faltering foot, and darken'd look, 
That spoke confusion and rebuke. 1 

Did some strong truth, all new and strange, 

Blest by the great ' I am; 
Drop from those reverend lips, and change 

The Lion to the Lamb '? 
Did pride feel there abash'd and awed, 
And conscience own the voice of God ? 

This morn before St. Peters shrine 

In lowly guise he knelt. 
Fell on him there some Grace divine, 

With power to move and melt? 

1 The Emperor, the morning after his arrival, had an 
audience with the Pope, who appears to have spoken 
with great firmness and dignity upon the occasion ; and 
when the Emperor left his presence his face was flushed, 
the sweat stood on his brow, and he was evidently ill at 


And flew to him some wing of Love 
Charged with an unction from above? 1 

While prostrate 'neath that ample dome. 

Amidst the holy dead, 
Touch'd with the claims of injured Rome. 

His soul may well have said, 
' Surely the Lord is in this spot. 
And I, insensate, knew it not !' 

Might one such feeling reach his heart. 

One thought like this prevail, 
' Remember, mortal, what thou art. 

Accountable and frail !' 

1 After leaving the Pope, the Emperor went into St. 
Peter's, where he seemed awed with the majesty of the 
place, and fell prostrate before St. Peter's shrine, and 
kissed the ground. (The Greeks are worshippers of the 
saints, even more than the Roman Catholics.) It is even 
said, that there he told his attendants, that if the Roman 
Catholics had been persecuted in Russia, they should be 
so no more. 


The crowns and sceptres of this earth, 
Weigh' d with that thought, had little worth. 

And where so well might moods like these 

Upon the spirit come 
As here, where sighs the autumn breeze 

O'er desolated Rome \ 
Where every stone its moral brings \ 
Where tread we on the dust of kings % 

Saw ye a shadowy hand sublime 

Write on that ruin'd wall ? 
Heard ye a voice, the voice of Time, 

From yon grey turret call 1 
1 All fleets, all fades beneath the skies ; 
O man, be humble and be wise !' 

Go forth then, King of Nations : march 
Along the Sacred way ; 


Stand 'neath the yet unbroken arch 

Of him who lost a day, 
When he had done no generous deed ; 
And wilt thou there no lesson read ? x 

Go where the Coliseum rears 

Its sad, majestic pile, — 
The pride and shame of former years : — 

Go, when the moonbeams smile, 
And talk with the historic dead, 
Who there have revell'd, — or have bled ! 

The Tyrant's trophies sink to dust ; 2 
The Hero's still arise, 

1 A friend of mine saw the Emperor twice standing in 
meditative mood under the arch of Titus ; and he paid 
three visits to the Coliseum. 

2 It is remarked, that the only monumental remains 
now standing at Rome are, with one trilling exception, 
such as were erected to commemorate the lives and actions 


True to their monumental trust, — 

Lo, in the evening skies, 
How freshly bright the columns shine 
Of Trajan and of Antonine ! 

Go, then, to these mute teachers ; go ! 

And if, like genial rain, 
Their lore upon thy heart shall flow, 

Thou cam'st not here in vain : 
Nor shalt thou fail to carry home 
A blessing from Eternal Rome ! 

of the most virtuous of her ancient heroes. The most 
perfect of these remains are the pillars of Trajan and 
Antoninus, the most excellent of her rulers. 





'T is pleasant to walk the broad sea-shore 

When the soul is dark, or the heart is sore. 

The waves give forth a soothing sound, 

As they boom along the shelving ground ; 

The crispness of the salt-sea air 

Breathes fresh on the fever d brow of care : 

And the waters, melting into the sky, 

Send the spirit on to Eternity ! 

So felt Sir Rupert, as o'er the sands 

That skirted his own brave house and lands 


He paced, but in dark regardless mood 
Of aught that there his attention woo'd. 

The sky was clear, and the sun was bright, 
The blue waves danced in the shifting light, 
And the foam-bells on the sand uproll'd 
Like silvery fret on a floor of gold. 
The far white ships sail'd stately by, 
The sea-mew flitted and laugh'd on high. 
But all appear'd in vain to woo 
Sir Rupert's thoughts to a livelier hue. 

From that mysterious race I 'm sprung 
That lived with man, when the world was young : 
But ever since envy and lust possess'd, 
And ruled and sullied his own pure breast, 
They have fled from earthly folly and art, 
And dwell in a world of their own apart : 
Hiding in Nature's secluded bowers, 
Watching and tending her fruits and flowers, 


Giving the blossom its scent and hue, 
And the fainting leaf its drink of dew ; 
Spanning the shower with its bright brief arch 
Leading the seasons their stately march, 
Staying the storm in his fierce career. — 
These are the tasks which engage us here. 
Xot that we less count man our friend, 
Or fail on his homely wants to tend. 
We note the housewife's honest cares, 
And speed her labours all unawares. 
We succour the mower down in the mead, 
And help the ploughman to sow his seed. 
We smooth the pillow where sickness lies, 
And shake sweet sleep o'er the infant's eyes. 
But we mingle not in man's vain affairs, 
Nor darken our path with his fears and cares ; 
And the Court, the City, the festive hall, 
We feel as strangers amidst them all. 

2 3 8 

T is merry, 't is merry in Colmar towers, 
On Rostan's hills, and in Binda's bowers, 
In humble cot, and in stately hall ; 
There are happy looks and hearts in all. 
The cloud that hung o'er the whole is fled, 
And the broad clear sun laughs out instead. 
One influence sweet, one presence bright, 
Has quicken'd the darkness into light. 
Woman's soft smile is in Colmar found, 
And it blesses and gladdens all around. 
This Rupert felt, as from day to day 
Lilla spread round her gentle sway ; 
All, all beneath her influence grew 
To a better tone, to a brighter hue. 
Old Colmar's courts no longer wore 
Their lorn and desolate air of yore ; 
A cheerful bustle ran through the place, 
Content sat beaming on ever}' face ; 
And active feet and diligent hands, 


Eager to work her light commands : 
And all on their various tasks intent, 
At their Lady's bidding came and went. 
All into life by her eye seem'd warm'd ; 
All to her own sweet will conform'd ; 
Till throughout that grim old gothic pile 
Order and neatness began to smile ; 
And comfort lighted up there a home 
That stole from the heart all wish to roam. 

Nor less did improvement win its way 
O'er all that around the castle lay. 
The lawn, of late so rugged and wild, 
Like emerald velvet now glow'd and smiled. 
The walk with mosses and weeds o'erspread 
Woo'd the light step o'er its gravelly bed. 
Trees and shrubs that had wont to swing 
Their long lank arms on the wild-wind's wing, 
Were taught to conform their savage will 
To the eye of taste and the hand of skill. 


The fount, that long had forgot to play, 
Sparkled once more in the morning ray. 
The vine clung again to the elm-tree tall, 
And the plum hung blue on the garden wall. — 
And then the flowers, the laughing flowers. 
The playmates of Lilla's earliest hours, 
How did she revel among them ! how 
Watch, and nurse, and enjoy them now ! 
Whether they grew on the wild bank, known 
To the wandering bee and the lark alone ; 
Or bloom'd in the garden's courtly bed, 
Like orient beauties in harem bred : 
From the queen-like rose to the harebell small, 
Gentle and simple she loved them all. 

She loved whatever was lovely here ; 
And flowers, sweet flowers, to her heart were dear. 
She knew their ways, and her joy and pride 
Was to gather them round her from every side. 


To give them the site which themselves would 

To trim their leaves, and to match their hues ; 
A staff in the weak one's hand to place, 
And lift to the sun its small pale face ; 
To bring the diffident out to view, 
The bold to check, and the proud subdue. 
Not one of them all but had its share 
Of her watchful love and judicious care. 
She flitted among them as if on wings, 
And talk'd to them all as to living things. 
And they as conscious how great their bliss, 
Held up their cheeks for a passing kiss ; 
Flung in her pathway their sweetest scent, 
And smiled and nodded as on she went. 

They wander down to the broad sea-shore, 
But not in his once dark spirit of yore. 


Now, not a wild wing that across them flies, 

Not a light shell in their path that lies, 

Nothing in ocean, or earth, or sky, 

Fails to awaken their sympathy. 

Or, if the sun with his fiercer rays 

Drives their steps to the woodland ways, 

The squirrel is there with his chattering glee, 

And the jay glad shouting from tree to tree ; 

And the rabbit stirring the ferns among, 

And the pheasant sunning her speckled young, 

Oh ! nature a golden harvest yields 

To all who will glean in her varied fields ; 

But their brightest tints her objects wear 

When those that we love are nigh to share ! 

And oh ! she was rich in each social wile. 
The night of its weariness to beguile ! 
She spoke, and mute attention hung, 
Persuasion dwelt on her silver tongue ; 


Sweet fancies, clad in sweetest words, 
Held the charm'd ear with magic chords, 
And judgment clear, and taste refined, 
Brought food alike to the heart and mind. 
And when her favourite songs she sung, 
The birds stay'd theirs ; — the soft winds hung 
Entranced around her to catch the tone, 
And by her music to mend their own. 

« ■■: * * V: * 

Each lived for each, one will, one heart ; 
Without a thought or a wish apart. 
As streams, from opposite hills that run, 
But meet in the valley, and blend in one, 
Their murmurs hush'd,and their wanderings past, 
Glide on together in peace at last ! 

* * * * * * 


Weep on ! weep on ! 't is a world of woe ; 
'T is vain to expect aught else below. 


The life of man has but one true tone, 
From its infantile cry, to its dying groan. 
Each step he takes through a land of gloom, 
But carries him onward to the tomb ; 
And all that he meets with as he goes 
Talks to his heart of the solemn close. 

Weep on ; there are many with man to weep, 
The murmuring winds, and the moaning deep ; 
The fading flower, and the falling dews, 
And the year expiring in dolphin hues. 
What says the rainbow's beautiful dream ] 
Or the sunset's brief but gorgeous gleam ? 
Or the summer lightning, now come, now 

gone ? — 
We shine but to fade ! Weep on ! weep on ! 

Weep on ! it is good on this earth to weep : 
If we sow in tears, we in joy may reap. 


While the hopes that we madly cherish there 
But pave the way to some new despair. 
Pale is the young cheek's richest bloom 
When it strews the path to an early tomb ; 
And dim the fire of the brightest eye 
When a beacon that points to mortality. 

Weep on ! weep on ! * 


&{je Complaint of JHarg fHagtoaletu 

She sat far off, — she sat and wept, 

Heart-broken Magdalene ! 
Her dark and silent watch she kept 

Throughout the awful scene. 
No power had she to soothe or aid, 

No hope to interpose ; 
Yet love and grief her heart upstay'd 

To watch Him to the close. 

'T was He, 't was He, who first the way 

Of life to her had shown ; 
Had freed her soul from Satan's sway, 

And made it all His own. 


'T was He she soon had hoped to see 

In Kingly glory rise, — 
And now, upon the fatal Tree, 

He bleeds, He faints, He dies ! 

And she has follow' d Him through all 

His wrongs and griefs to-day, 
Stood with Him in the Judgment-Hall, 

Trod o'er the public way. 
The scourge, the cords, the savage thorns 

She shared them to the close ; 
Scorn'd in her outraged Master's scorns, 

And bleeding in His woes. 

The ponderous Cross she saw Him bear, 

All fainting up the hill ; 
She saw them nail Him on it there 

Witli unrelenting skill ; 


She heard their wild and withering cry 

As He aloft was swung, 
The gaze of every flashing eye, 

The scoff of every tongue 1 

No angel comes, on wings of love. 

His sinking soul to cheer • 
The very Heavens seem shut above, 

And Mercy fails to hear ; 
Despised, deserted, crush'd, and awed. 

He hangs upon the tree, 
And cries in vain, ' My God, My God, 

Hast Thou forsaken me V 

O trying scene for woman's eye ! 

And yet she braved it all ; 
The struggle and the agony, 

The wormwood and the gall, — 


Though earth beneath in horror shook. 
Though Heaven its light withdrew. 

And sterner hearts the awe partook, 
Yet woman braved it through. 

She sat far off — she sat and wept, 

Heart-broken Magdalene ! 
Her dark and silent watch she kept 

Throughout the trying scene ! 
She sank not when His head He bow'd, 

She bore His dying groan — 
Till pass'd aw T ay the sated crowd, 

And left her there alone ! 

The shades of evening round her head 
Xow gather'd thick and fast ; 

And forth her burthen'd spirit fled 
In louder woe at last. 


Upon the ear of silent night 

Her plaintive murmurs broke, 
And sorrow seem'd to grow more light 

As thus she wept and spoke. — 

4 And is all over 1 Can it be 

That they have had their will ? 
Thou hanging, Lord, on yonder tree, 

And we surviving still I 
Is this to be the course and close 

Of all Thy conflicts past ? 
A brief, dark path through wrongs and woes 

To such a death at last I 

' Yes, past all reach of ill Thou art, — 

I see no living sign ; 
And, oh that this sad struggling heart 

Were now as still as Thine ! 


I groan — Thou canst not heed my groan, 

Nor answer when I plain. — 
Ah ! I shall never hear the tone 

Of that blest voice aorain. 

' O hallow'd head ! compell'd to bow 

Beneath unnumber'd scorns ; 
O dear, dishonoured, glorious brow, 

Xow crush'd beneath the thorns ; 
O eyes, where Heaven seem'd once to reign, 

Can ye grow glazed and dim ? 

Death — by Him for others slain, 
Canst thou have power o'er Him 1 

1 How couldst thou, brutal soldier, dare 

To pierce that breast divine ? — 
There never dwelt a feeling there 
But love to thee and thine. 


How could ye harm one tender limb 

Of His, ye murderous crew, 
And know, that while ye tortured Him 

He pray'd for you, for you ? 

' It must be right, I feel it must, 

Though all is darkness now ; — 
Lord, teach my trembling heart to trust, 

And help my will to bow ! 
T is hard upon that Cross to gaze, 

Nor feel the Tempter's power. 
O God ! sustain me through the maze 

Of this mysterious hour ! 

' Yes ! mystery o'er the whole doth hang, 

To be unravelled still. 
Who could on Him inflict a pang 

Without the Sufferers will 1 


He, whom the slumbering dead have heard. 

Whose voice the winds could tame, 
Could not He crush them with a word 

If such had been His aim 1 

1 But I remember well, when hope 

Seem'd most our hearts to cheer, 
What hints and warnings He would drop 

Of pain and trial near. 
He, doubtless, was intent to give 

A lesson here from high ; 
And as He taught us how to live. 

Would teach us now to die ! 

' Yet surely 't was a loftier task 
That drew Him from the skies. 

And ne'er could mere example ask 
So dire a sacrifice ; — 


And surely these were all to tend 
At last to brighter bliss, 

Not prematurely here to end 
In double night like this. 

' All prophecy proclaims a time 

When Satan's rule shall cease, 
When Earth shall pass from woe and crime 

To endless love and peace, — 
When Death and Hell with all their hosts 

Shall quail before their Lord, 
And more than was in Adam lost 

Shall be in Christ restored. 

' Yes, Lord of lords, and King of kings, 

For such Thou art to me, 
My soul through doubt and darkness clings 

With trembling faith to Thee, — 


I feel some brighter morn shall yet 
Our shatter' d hopes surprise, 

And glory's sun, that now is set, 
Again in glory rise. 

' The great Messiah still Thou art, 

Confirm'd by every sign : 
And this may all be but a part 

Of some sublime design. 
What God ordains must needs be best,- 

What He permits is right ; 
On Him, on Him my soul I rest, 

And wait for further light. 

' One mournful task is left me too, — 

Thy dear remains to tend ; 
With honours due Thy bier to strew. 

And watch Thee to the end. 


Then let me to Thy lifeless clay 

Still sadly, fondly cling, 
And wait, and weep, and hope, and pray 

For what the day may bring.' — 

She said, and seem'd to ease her breast 

In these complaints and prayers ; 
Then rose, and went to seek the rest, 

And mingle tears with theirs. 
She went the spices to provide, 

His last sad rites to pay, — 
Then by the tomb sat down and sigh'd, 

' Oh, when will it be day V 


3amtarg 1st, 18^7 

What solemn footfall smote my startled ear ? 

Heard I the step of the departing year ? 

Saw I her shadowy form flit slowly by, 

To join her sisters in eternity ? — 

Sweeping down thither, as the autumn's blast 

Sweeps summer's leaves, the records of the past, 

The joys and griefs, the bustle and the strife, 

The shadows and realities of life 1 

Hear me, stern daughter of old Time, O hear ! — 

Is there no plea may stay thy strong career ? 

pause in pity ! pause, and to my prayer 
Grant a brief converse with the things that were — 

1 know the retrospect has much to pain, 
Much to be mended could all come again \ 



Still, without one last look we must not sever. 
Sad is the word that bids to part for ever ! 
Beam, then, again on me, dear, kindly faces, 
And smile your best, old times and well-known 

places ; 
Bright looks, soft tones, high thoughts/ and 

fancies fair, 
Return, return, and be what once you were ! 
All that was precious in the year that's past, — 
Too sweet to lose, too beautiful to last — 
Sunshine, and song, and fragrance, things that 

O'er life's dull path a brighter tint and hue ; 
Hopes realized, desires fulfill'd ; — success 
Crowning long toils ; the burthens of distress 
Lighten'd, Will subjugated, Self denied, 
Tils overcome by long endurance, Pride 
Taught to be greatly humble, — all that wakes 
The approvingvoice of conscience, all that makes 


Heaven's windows open o'er us, converse sweet, 
And sweeter meditation ; all, — all fleet 
Back into being. — Burst oblivion's chain, 
And be awhile realities again ! — 

Blest be the powers that can the past restore ; — 
They come, they come, warm breathing as of 

yore ! 
I hear remember' d voices, seem to dwell 
Once more with forms I 've known and loved 

so well. 
Distinct, beyond my fondest hopes, they rise, 
The shadows dimming the realities. 
Beautiful witcheries ! Oh, would I might 
Hold them thus ever, durable as bright ! 
But, like the splendours of a sunset sky, 
E'en while I gaze their glories wane and 
And, as they fade, uprising in their rear 
A host of darker verities appear ; 


Sorrows and sins of various shade and hue, 
That claim their notice in the year's review. 
And shall they be rejected ? shall my eyes 
Be shut to life's too stern realities ? 
And shall the records of the past be seen, 
Not as they were, but as they should have been? 
No ! small the gain and brief the joy that lives 
In the poor dreams such self-delusion gives ; 
And honest conscience scorns to take a tone, 
Or speak a flattering language not her own ; 
And wherefore seek to bribe her, wherefore fear 
Her rough but salutary voice to hear, 
When every warning, now rejected, grows 
To overwhelming thunder at the close 1 

The close ! the close ! How like a death-knell 

That solemn word to wake me from my dreams ! 
One little year, yea, less than one like this, 
May bring me to the close of all that is. 


Far clown Time's chequered stream I 've J 

voyaged on, 
And seen my fellows drop off, one by one ; 
And now the widening waters seem to near 
Eternity's dark ocean ■ on my ear 
Sound the deep hearings of that shoreless sea, 
And awe my soul into solemnity ! 
Darkling I hover round the world to come, 
And voices thence are heard to call me home ; 
And stretching on into the dread expanse, 
I fain would lift the curtain, and advance. 
One little step, I know, would bear me through, 
And give the secrets of the dead to view \ 
But till that step is taken, mortal sense, 
Ask as it may, gets no response from thence. 
Thought may at times, when all around me sleep, 
Launch sounding forth into that silent deep • 
But without star to guide or light to cheer, 
Soon back to land my trembling course I steer. 


E'en bold Conjecture onward fears to fare, 
And Reason shrinks to find no footing there ; 
Till conscious Nature, baffled and o'er-awed, 
Sinks suppliant on the Mercy of her God, 
Turns from self-confidence to faith and prayer, 
Clings to His Word, and finds her refuge there. 

Thrice happy we, not left to grope our way 
From truth to truth, by Nature's feeble ray, 
Where one false step were ruin. Happier still 
Our wills conforming to the Heavenly Will ; 
Ready, as God may prompt, to think, and feel, 
And take His impress, as the wax the seal ; 
At His blest feet content to sit and learn, 
Or walk by faith, till faith to sight shall turn ; 
Beneath the Saviours cross to stand and scan 
All He has done, and all He claims from man ; 
Learn from His life, and on His death repose, 
And grow in love and duty to the close. 


On the year's threshold, on the narrow strand 

That parts the past and future, here I stand, 

Without control o'er either : one is flown 

Beyond recal • — a dark and dread unknown, 

The other stretches onward, — what to be, 

Seen but by Him who fills Eternity. 

The present, and scarce that, is still my own ; — 

Oh, be it consecrate to Heaven alone ! 

Be mine, while all things shift and change around, 

To cleave to Him in whom no change is found. 

To rest on the Immutable, to cling 

Closer and closer 'neath the Almighty wing ; 

His voice in all its varied tones to hear, 

And in all aspects feel Him ever near; 

Be mine with Him to walk, on Him depend,— 

Then, come what may, it all to good must tend ! 



£fje Poet'* Plea 

Deal gently with the poet. Think that he 
Is made of finer clay than other men, 

And ill can bear rough handling ; and while we, 
Of sturdier natures, laugh'd at laugh again, 

And self-complacently shake off 

The world's unmerited contempt and scoff — 

As easily as from his scaly side 

Leviathan shakes off the drippings of the tide ; — 

Not so the poet. On his keener sense 

Light harms smite often with an edge intense. 

A stony look, a lip of scorn, may crush 

His young aspirings \ chill the stir and flush 

Of waking inspiration \ and control 

Down into common-place the darings of his soul. 

26 5 

Lightly his spirit touch ! 
The lyre is delicate ; the chords are fine ; 
And fine must be the finger, that from such 

Wins melody divine. 
The strings, that gentler skill to music wakes, 

A clash impetuous breaks. 
And images, that, in the musing mind, 
As in a placid lake, lie mirrored and defined, 
If ruffling winds along the surface stray, 
Scatter'd and broken, pass like rack away. 
Stored thoughts and treasured feelings, that in 

Were ready to leap forth, and breathe, and burn 
In verse, as fancy called them, once dispersed, 
Bide, like the Sibyl's leaves, uns canned and 

And, Desolater, who shall say 
Of what thy rashness may have 'reft mankind ? 


Take the sweet poetry of life away, 

And what remains behind ? 
Oh, who his seventy years would delve and plod, 
And tug through life's dull tide the weary oar, 
Were all his heritage what earth's poor clod 

Can yield, and nothing more 1 
Perhaps the Poet had that moment caught 
Some hallowed truth, some spirit-stirring 

That — like the wakening of a trumpet blast, — 
From age to age might thrillingly have pass'd. 
Perhaps some happy fancy, some fair dawn 
Of beauty, on his mind may just have shone ; — 
Some touch of holy tenderness, whose spell 
Might melt and mend all hearts whereon it fell. 
He was, perhaps, aloft among the stars, — 
Perhaps beyond them ; leaning on the bars, 

The golden bars, that Heaven enclose, 

List'ning the music that within — 


A vocal glory, fell and rose 

From lips of chaunting seraphin ; 

Intent to carry down from thence 

All that could enter mortal sense, 

Dull'd as it is by sin ; — 

And thou didst call him down from tasks like 

To mix with common life's poor, tame formalities ! 

Go, Man of earth, and do thy work ! obey 
Thy five good senses ! Traffic, drudge, design ! 
To small civilities due homage pay ! — 
The Poet has his province, and thou thine. 
He dwells within a sphere thou canst not enter, 
Nearer the throne, fast by the mighty centre ; 
And hears what cannot reach the unchasten d ear 
Of those who stand outside, among the million 

To thee and thine belong the Gentile courts, 
To which the uncircumcised crowd resorts. 


He finds admittance to the inmost shrine, 
Which none can hope to reach till led by hands 

Keep then thy place. Thou hast good work to 

do i 
Not they alone the temple service share 
Who tend the altar. Those are needful too, 
Who hew the wood and draw the water there. 
The daily drudgery of life demands 
A due relay of honest heads and hands ; 
They have their use ; shall have their pay besides. 
The world is just, and for her own provides. 
To thrive in pelf, in pomp and place to shine ; 
These are her gifts, and these shall, Man of 

earth, be thine. 
But trench not on the Poet's charter' d rights, 
He walks his own domain with haughty brow : 
His heavenly communings, his eagle flights 
Are not for such as thou. 


High thoughts, warm feelings, the perennial spring 
Of inward gladness, rapture's thrill and glow, 
The heart in flower, the fancy on the wing, — 

Thou must not hope to know. 
These are the Poet's dower. Of these possest, 
He smiles, and bids earth's minion take the rest ! 

But spare, ye men of fact, ye sapient band, 
With critic lore, our desperate ears to stun. 
Carp not at that you do not understand ; 
Nor spend your shafts in shooting at the sun. 
The rich creations, which the Poet flings 
In rainbow radiance from his passing wings, 
You may not duly relish, rightly scan ; 
Yet think, wise sirs, there may be those who can ; 
And kill not his fine frenzies with your frown. 
Nor to your standard seek to dwarf him down. 
You prize the useful. Be it so. Yet tell, 
In what consists this useful ? The All-wise, 


In furnishing the world in which we dwell, 

Stints not His gifts to mere necessities ; 

Nor deems it waste to tint the bird's bright wing, 

Yea, give him voice to sing ; 
To beautify the flower, and to its bloom 

To superadd perfume. 
Things need not be fantastic nor unreal 

Because they are ideal. 
Nay, every object in this world of dreams 

Is what to each it seems. 
And that, which quickens into action all 
Of good in man, that has survived the fall, 
Refines each baser sense, and helps to call 
From all that is, the good, the beautiful ; 
That bids Experience half her ills withhold, 
And turns whate'er it touches into gold ; — 
Can that be useless? that, whose hallowing leaven 
Imparts to this poor world whate'er it has of 
Heaven ? 

2J I 

O empty Cavillers ! why not assign 

New laws to Nature, teach the stars to shine ] 
Soar through the clouds, proud gazer at the sun, 
And leave the owls and bats at noonday to doze on ! 

Yet not the worldly, nor the dull alone 
Refuse Heaven's favoured one his homage due : 
Minds of a larger grasp and loftier tone 

Oft wrong the Poet too. 

Oh, the half-hearted praise, 
The chilling toleration, men can give 
To powers, that mortals from the dust can raise 

Among the gods to live ! 

"Who shall the boons declare 
With which the Poet sows our fallen earth ? 
The holy thoughts, and sweet emotions there, 

That owe to him their birth ? 

High sentiments, now grown 
Familiar household terms mankind among, 


Are oft but sparklets of the soul, once thrown 

From some poetic tongue ; 
Rich emanations of some pregnant mind, 
Bright gems of thought in happy words enshrined ; 
That lend to common life a higher tone, 
And touch within men's hearts, chords to them- 
selves unknown. 
And shall the Poet, like a kindled torch, 
For us and ours in self-devotion burn, 
And taunts that blister, and rebukes that scorch 

Be dealt him in return ? 

Shall all his thoughtful toil, 
His midnight watchings, solitude, and pain, 
Ask the cheap meed of one approving smile, 
And ask in vain ? 

Shall we prefer to sit 
In cold, stern dignity, in Censure's chair, 
When we with him on social wing might flit 

Through ocean, earth, and air? 


When we might rise and reign 
In each high privilege to genius given, 
Bright, living links of the electric chain 

Connecting earth with Heaven 1 
O senseless choice ! that frowns and stands apart, 
Whenbothmight sweetly mingle, heart with heart ! 
O poor exchange, the critic's carps and sneers, 
For poetry's full soul, her raptures, and her tears ! 

Make large allowance, then, for Nature's child ; 
School him not tamely down to rule and line. 
Let the fine Savage roam his native wild ; 
Nor fetter Fancy's chartered libertine. 
The stale observances to dulness dear, — 
O chide not, if beyond their pale he rove, 
And rise from Lar and the Penates here, 

To walk the Heavens with Jove. 
Be his to pierce the wild wood's tangled maze, 
And find or force new by-paths of his own. 


The fruits are gathered by the beaten ways ; 

The flowers are trampled down. 

Be his aloft to soar 
Within the winnow of Archangel's wing, 
And hear beneath his feet the thunder's roar, 

And the grim whirlwinds sing. 

Within the hearts of men, 
Be his each secret chamber to unbar, 
And drag the struggling passions from their den, 

To yoke them to his car. 
Free, let him range the globe from land to land, 
And some new lore from every object win : 
Or by the flood of ages thoughtful stand, 
And hear earth's Empires one by one drop in. 
Calm let him sit by nature's mighty wheel, 
To watch her workings, and her ways reveal, 
Or launch abroad her silent depths to sound, 
And bring up wonders for the world around. 
Grand his ambitions ! Be his scope as grand ! 


They only greatly do, who greatly dare ; 
Why snatch the club from Hercules's hand 

To place the distaff there 1 
No ! let him dally with the lightnings ; fling 
Forth, if he will, upon the tempest's wing ; 
Ride the careering billow without rein, 
And stroke with playful hand its foamy mane ; 
And scorning by the servile shore to creep, 
Forth let him steer to seek new worlds across 

the deep. 

Yet should the worst befal, should wrongs assail, 
Should envy harass, or indifference chill, 
Should evil days and evil tongues prevail, 
Be strong, O genius ! much is left thee still. 
The bypath through the meads is warm and sweet; 
Soft evening breezes from the orchards play • 
Crush'd herbs give out their odours 'neath thy feet, 
And flashing brooks dance by thee all the way. 


The small shrill people of the grass 

Chirp welcomes as they see thee pass ; 

The flowers unlock their hearts, and thence 
Breathe odorous secrets forth to thy quick sense. 

Dryads and Fauns in woodland spaces, 

Push through the leaves their laughing faces; 

And bending boughs to thee make suit, 
And to thy hand present their tributary fruit. 

Thine are the living fountains, 
That down the rocks in liquid silver run ; 

Thine are the giant mountains, 
That lift their broad green shoulders to the 

The clouds that sail the summer sky, 

Or o'er their shadows anchor high ; 

The stars that round the matron moon 
People with glory the blue vault of June, 
All, all, are thine ! From off her ample breast, 
Sweet Nature, flinging wide her folded vest, 


Gives thee her very self unveil'd to see, 
And freely talks her inmost soul to thee. 
Yea, and should these all fail thee, still thou hast 
Thy solace ; hast thy white, auspicious days, 
When thoughts — like showering meteors, bright 

and fast, 
Flash on thy soul, self-clad in aptest phrase. 
Thou hast thy glorious visions of the night, 
Mysterious converse with the mighty dead ; 
Angelic visitants, from realms of light, 
Ascending and descending o'er thy head. 

There may be toil. While here, 
Man in his sweat, his daily bread must eat ; 
Yet faint not. There is much thy work to cheer, 
The very pains of poetry are sweet, 

The streams which others' thirst supply 

Shall not be to their owner dry ; 
And precious draughts from thence shall bless, 
And stay thy spirit through the wilderness. 


A light shall guide thee better than the rules . 
The world employs to school her knaves and fools. 
A happy instinct bears the Poet through ; 
And while he speaks and writes, he lives the 

Poet too. 
And as thou sitt'st and singest all apart, 
Feeling it recompense enough to vent 
The throbbing pulses of a pent-up heart, 
And make the soul's mute yearnings eloquent : 

Those x\rgosies of thought and rhyme 

Thou launchest on the stream of Time, 

Floating to unborn generations down, 
Shall blessings bear to them, and to thyself 

That which is truly noble cannot die ! 

Eternal as its hallow' d course on high ! 

Heroes and Conquerors have their da)' : 

Kings with their Empires pass away. 

Things, which to marble we intrust, 

Shall with it moulder into dust. 


But one true flash of living mind, 
At Heavens own altar kindled and refined, 
Shall travel, like a beacon light, 
From intellectual height to height, 
Unquenched, unquenchable ! Seas cannot 

Mountains o'erwhelm it, legions tread it down \ 
A moment lost, 't is sure again to rise, 
And lead, from strength to strength, still on- 
ward to the skies. 

Yet think, O mortal, think, while thus endow' d 
With more than mortal privilege and power, 
Think how they lift thee o'er the ignoble crowd, 
Who walk by sense, and live but for the hour. 

Gifts that have had their birth 
Beyond the everlasting hills on high, 
Sent down to dwell awhile in hearts on earth, 
Should still tend upward to their native sky. 


Husks, that the swine do eat, 
Earth's bursting bubbles, must not thee delight, 
With Heaven's own Manna falling at thy feet, 
And Canaan's promised glories full in sight. 

No ! be it thine to rise 
In noble scorn of every meaner thing, 
Self-buoyant, like the bird of paradise 
That sleeps and wakes for ever on the wing. 
The vestal fire must not be left to wane, 
Nor lightly desecrate to use profane. 
Thou walk' st this earth the delegate of Heaven ; 
And much shall be required where much is given. 
Not that the tone need always be sublime ; 
The light and graceful have their place and time. 
But for the loose, the impious, or the base, 
Exists no privilege of time or place. 
Oh, scorn them, scorn them ! To thyself be true ! 
Breathe not a thought thou e'er shalt wish un- 
said ; 


Nought that may haunt and sadden life's review, 
Or cast a shadow o'er thy dying bed. 
Thine is a lofty mission. Nothing less 
Than God to glorify, and Man to bless ; 
To raise poor grovelling Nature from the mire, 
To give her wings, and teach her to aspire \ 
To nurse heroic moods ; meek worth to cheer : 
To dry on sorrow's cheek the trembling tear ; 
And still be ready, let who will deride, 
To take the lists on injured Virtue's side. 
This is thy calling. Tasks like these 
Claim and repay the soul's best energies. 
Nor need'st thou fear, while thus employed, 
That life should seem a burthen or a void. 
Joys shall be thine, Man makes not, nor unmakes \ 
Cheer, which the fickle world nor gives nor takes ; 
Unhoped-for streams that in the desert rise, 
And sunshine bursting through the cloudiest 
skies ! 


From light to light thy steps shall tend, 
Thy prospects ever brightening to the end ; 

Thy soul acquiring as it goes 
The tone and feelings that befit the close. 
Such path, O gifted one, be thine to tread ! 

And when the Judge of quick and dead 

To each His sentence shall assign, 
' Well done, thou faithful servant !' shall be thine ! 
And thou shalt rise the tasks of Heaven to share, 
Join the blest choir, and feel no stranger there. 
And ' power and honour to the Lamb' shall seem 
To thee no new and uncongenial theme. 
The strains, to which thy earthly powers were 

Shall be renew'd and perfected in Heaven ; 
And more than e'er blest Poet's dream, shall be 
The Poet's portion there throughout eternity ! 

Rome, March 1847. 


Co a JitlMIofam 

Found beside a favourite arbour early in Spring 

Hail, lovely harbinger of Spring ! 

Hail, little, modest Flower ! 
Fann'd by the tempest's icy wing, 

Dash'd by the hoary shower. 
Thy balmy breath, thy soften'd bloom 

Was ever welcome here ; 
But at this hour of Wintry gloom 

Thy smile is doubly dear. 

The storm that o'er thy mossy bed, 
Subdues the towering tree, 

Flies harmless o'er thy shelter'd head, 
And wears no scowl for thee ; 


But resting in security, 

Thou teachest haughty souls 
The blessings of obscurity, 

Where ruin's whirlwind rolls. 

The tulip flaunts in rich array ; 

The rose is passing sweet ; 
But, ah ! with Summer's golden day, 

Their gaudy charms retreat : 
But while the lingering Winter lowers, 

And saddens all the green, 
Thou, herald mild of brighter hours 

Thy soothing smiles are seen. 

Thy gems are strew'd in every place, 

On every bank they fling 
An early wreath, with artless grace 

Around the brows of Spring ; 


In woodland wilds, in gardens gay, 
In vale, on mountain drear 3 

The first to meet the sunny ray, 
And hail the waking year. 

Oh ! thou art Nature's fondest care, 

The foster-child of Spring ! 
The virgin twines thee in her hair 

To dance at village ring. 
The bee, in thy soft bosom, stays 

His winglet's wild career ; 
The lark his morning song of praise 

Pours in thy dewy ear ! 

Dear, little, timorous, gentle flower, 
Sweet pilgrim of the storm, 

Still, still beneath my sheltering bower 
Recline thy paly form ! 


No plundering grasp, no heedless bruise, 
Shall harm one bud of thine : 

And gaudier sweets while others choose, 
The Primrose shall be mine. 

Ballow-Water, April 27, 181 2. 



Sweetest daughter of the year, 
Smiling June, I hail thee here. 
Hail thee with thy skies of blue, 
Days of sunshine, nights of dew. 
Hail thee with thy songs and flowers, 
Balmy air, and leafy bowers, 
Bright and fragrant, fresh and clear, 
Smiling June, I hail thee here. 

Yet, sweet June, it is not these 
Perfumed gales and whispering trees 
Blossoms shed with liberal hand, 
Like a star-shower o'er the land, 


Waves at rest and woods in tune ; 
'T is not these, delicious June, 
Gives thee such a charm for me, 
Moves me thus to welcome thee. 

'T is that Agnes on thy skies 
Open'd first her brighter eyes ; 
That the flower of all thy flowers 
Woke to life within thy bowers ; 
Gave thy charms a higher tone, 
Lent thee honours not thy own ; 
And for this, thy brightest boon, 
Take thy tribute, lovely June. 



fHag jHofoers 

Sweet Babes, dress'd out in flowers of May, 
And fair and innocent as they ; 
A lovely type in them we see 
( )f what you are, and what must be. 
Like them you rise, like them you bloom, 
Like them you hasten to the tomb. 
Ye human flowers, smile on, smile on ! 
Your hours of bliss will soon be gone. 

Soon manhood with its cares and crimes 
Shall cloud these early sunny times, 
And call you from your sports and flowers 
To passions and pursuits like ours. 


2 go 

And what are all that men pursue 
But flowrets, gather'd flowrets, too ? 
Howe'er they tempt, howe'er they please, 
More fleeting and less fair than these. 

Enjoyments, honours, talents, sway, 
Wealth, beauty, all must pass away ; 
A cloud must come across their sky, 
A frost but nips them, and they die. 
One flower alone, when all are gone, 
Shall bloom for aye unfading on — 
'T is Grace — the treasure seek and prize ; 
It grows to Glory in the skies. 

29 1 

3. fH. fH. %. 


A few brief moons the Babe who slumbers 

Smiled on her parents, and that innocent smile 
Was daylight to their eyes. They thought her 

And gentle, and intelligent, and dared 
To lean their hearts upon her. There are ways 
And looks of hers that long will dwell with 

And there are bright anticipations held, 
How fondly and feelingly resign'd ! 
Her very helplessness endear'd her to them, 
And made her more their own. — But this is 

done : — 


The wintry wind pass'd o'er the opening flower, 
And nipp'd it in the bud — and it is gone. 

Still there is comfort left. It still is joy 
That they can lift their weeping eyes to Heaven, 
And think that one of theirs is settled there ; 
Can know, beyond the shadow of a doubt, 
That she is safe with Him who bears the lambs 
Within His bosom, and, no longer Babe 
But Angel, now beholds her Father's face, 
And shares the fulness of eternal joy. 

Sweet Spirit, since now the ministry of love 
From God to erring man is thine, O draw 
The souls of those who loved thee to the place 
Where thou art gone before them ; make them 

That earth is not their home ; O fix their 



On Heaven, on Him who once on earth took up 
Babes such as thou, and blessed them, and 

bade all 
Who look'd for Heaven become like Babes, — 

like thee, 
Pure, innocent, lowly, loving, and new-born. 


f^arfe! rounto tfjc (Soli of ^afie 

Hark ! round the God of Love 

Angels are singing ! 
Saints at His feet above 

Their crowns are flinging. 
And may poor children dare 

Hope for acceptance there. 
Their simple praise and prayer 

To His throne bringing ? 

Yes ! through adoring throngs 

His pity sees us, 
'Midst their seraphic songs 

Our offering pleases. 


And Thou who here didst prove 
To babes so full of love, 

Thou art the same above, 
Merciful Jesus ! 

Not a poor sparrow falls 

But Thou art near it. 
When the young raven calls, 

Thou, Lord, dost hear it. 
Flowers, worms, and insects share, 

Hourly Thy guardian care — 
Wilt Thou bid us despair] 

Lord, can we fear it ? 

Lord, then thy mercy send 

On all before Thee ! 
Children and children's friend, 

Bless, we implore Thee ! 


Lead us from grace to grace, 
On through our earthly race, 

Till all before Thy face 
Meet to adore Thee ! 


SUnrjc tintfj me 

1 Abide with us: for it is toward evening, and the day is far 
spent.'" — St. Luke xxiv. 29 

Abide with me ! Fast falls the eventide ; 
The darkness deepens : Lord, with me abide ! 
When other helpers fail, and comforts flee, 
Help of the helpless, O abide with me ! 

Swift to its close ebbs out life's little day \ 
Earth's joys grow dim ; its glories pass away : 
Change and decay in all around I see ; 
( ) Thou, who changest not, abide with me ! 

Not a brief glance I beg, a passing word, 
But as Thou dwell'st with Thy disciples, Lord, 


Familiar, condescending, patient, free, 
Come, not to sojourn, but abide, with me ! 

Come not in terrors, as the King of kings ; 
But kind and good, with healing in Thy wings : 
Tears for all woes, a heart for every plea. 
Come, Friend of sinners, and thus bide with 

me ! 

Thou on my head in early youth didst smile, 
And, though rebellious and perverse meanwhile, 
Thou hast not left me, oft as I left Thee. 
On to the close, O Lord, abide with me ! 

I need Thy presence every passing hour. 
What but Thy grace can foil the Tempter's 

power ? 
Who like Thyself my guide and stay can be? 
Through cloud and sunshine, O abide with me ! 


I fear no toe with Thee at hand to bless : 
Ills have no weight, and tears no bitterness. 
Where is death's sting? where, grave, thy victory? 
I triumph still, if Thou abide with me. 

Hold Thou Thy cross before my closing eyes ; 
Shine through the gloom, and point me to the 

skies : 
Heaven's morning breaks, and earth's vain 

shadows flee. 
In life and death, Lord, abide with me ! 

h E R R v II K A I ), September 1847. 


July, 1 868. 

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fellow and lecturer op' clare college, cambridge, lecturer and late fellow 
of st. John's college, 



The following Parts are in course of preparation:— 


Edited by S. H. Reynolds, M.A. 
Fellow and Tutor of Brasenose 
College, Oxford. 

[Vol. I. Books I. to XII. 


Edited by H. G. Woods, M.A. 
Fellow and Tutor of Trinity Col- 
lege, Oxford. 


Edited by Arthur Holmes, M.A. 
Fellow and Lecturer of Clare Col- 
lege, Cambridge. 

[Part I. De Corona. 

Edited by T. L. PAPILLON, M.A. 
Fellow and Classical Lecturer of 
Merton College, Oxford. 


Edited by John Edwin SANDYS, 

B.A. Fellow and Lecturer of St. 
John's College, and Lecturer at 
Jesus College, Cambridge. [Part I. 

Edited by J. M. Marshall, M.A. 
Fellow and late Lecturer of Bra- 
senose College, Oxford. One of 
the Masters in Clifton College. 

Edited by George Butler, M.A. 

Principal of Liverpool College ; 

late Fellow of Exeter College, 



Edited by G. II. HESLOP, M.A. 
late Fellow and Assistant Tutor 
of Queen's College, Oxford. Head 
Master of St. Bees. 

[Part II. De Falsa Legatione. 

Edited by R. C. Jebb, M.A. Fellow 
and Assistant Tutor of Trinity 
College, Cambridge. 

[Part III. the Philoctctes. 


Edited by ALFRED Barry, D.D. 
late Fellow of Trinity College, 
Cambridge, Principal of King's 
College, London. 


Edited by W. IT. Simcox, M.A., Fellow and Lecturer of Queen's College, 



Catena Classicorum. 

The following Parts have 

Edited by R. C. JEBB, M.A.Tellow 

and Assistant Tutor of Trinity 
College, Cambridge. 

[Part I. The Electra. 3* 6d. 

[Part II. The Ajax. 3* 6d. 


Edited by G. A. Simcox, M.A. , 
Fellow and Classical Lecturer of 
Queen's College, Oxford. 
[Thirteen Satires. 3s. 6d. 

Edited by Charles Bigg, M.A. 
late Senior Student and Tutor of 
Christ Church, Oxford. Second 
Classical Master of Cheltenham 

[Vol. I. Books I. and II. with 
Introductions. 6s. 

been already published:— 


Edited by G. H. Heslop, M.A. 
late Fellow and Assistant Tutor 
of Queen's College, Oxford. Head 
Master of St. Bees. 

[Parts I & II. The Olyn- 
thiacs and the Philippics. 
4s. 6d. 

Edited by W. C. Green, M.A. 
late Fellow of King's College, 
Cambridge. Classical Lecturer at 
Queen's College. 

[Part I. The Acharnians and 

the Knights. 45*. 
[Part II. The Clouds. 3*. 6d. 

©pinions of tl)t $3rcs's'. 
Mr. Jebb's " Electra " of Sophocles. 

"'The Electra' is all that could be 
wished, and a better help could not well be 
found for those who wish to re-commence 
an acquaintance with almost forgotten 
Greek authors." — Clerical Journal, April 
18, 1867. 

" Of Mr. Jebb's scholarly edition of the 
' Electra' of Sophocles we cannot speak too 
highly. The whole Play bears evidence of 
the taste, learning, and fine scholarship of 
its able editor. Illustrations drawn from 
the literature of the Continent as well as of 
England, and the researches of the highest 
classical authorities are embodied in the 
notes, which are brief, clear, and always to 
the point." — Lo7ido?i Review, March 16, 

" The editorship of the work before us is 
of a very high order, displaying at once 
ripe scholarship, sound judgment, and con- 
scientious care. An excellent Introduction 
gives an_ account of the various forms 
assumed in Greek literature by the legend 
upon which 'The Electra' is founded, and 
institutes a comparison between it and the 
'Choephorae' of ,'Eschylus. The text is 
mainly that of I >indorf. In the notes, which 
arc admirable ill every respect, is to he 
found exactly what is wanted, and yet they 
rather suggest and direct further inquiry 
than supersede exertion on the part of the 
student.' - — Athcnwuvi, March 23, 1867. 

The Introduction proves that Mr. Jebb 
is something more than a mere scholar, — 
a man of real taste and feeling. His 
criticism upon Schlegefs remarks on the 
Electra are, we believe, new, and certainly 
just. As we have often had occasion to say 
in this Review, it is impossible to pass any 
reliable criticism upon school-books until 
they have been tested by experience. The 
notes, however, in this case appear to be 
clear and sensible, and direct attention to 
the points where attention is most needed." 
— Westminster Review, April, 1867. 

"We have no hesitation in saying that in 
style and manner Mr. Jebb's notes are 
admirably suited for their purpose. The 
explanations of grammatical points are sin- 
gularly lucid, the parallel passages generally 
well chosen, the translations bright and 
graceful, the analysis of arguments terse 
and luminous. There is hardly any ob- 
scurity, and nocumbrousness or overloading. 
We think, too, that Mr. Jebb's plan of 
furnishing complete analyses of the choric 
metres is an admirable one for a school edi- 
tion ; and we like his method of giving 
parenthetically the dates of the less known 
ancient authors whom he qtiotes, a method 
which, suggesting as it must to an in- 
telligent student the existence of a world 
of literature with which he is very likely to 
be unfamiliar, will do much to create or 

Opinions of the Press. 


stimulate in him the spirit and habits of 
research. Mr. Jebb has clearly shown that 
he p< ssesses some of the qualities most 
essential for a commentator." — Spectator, 
July 6, 1867. 

"The notes appear to us exactly suited 
to assist boys of the Upper Forms at 
Schools, and University students ; they 
give sufficient help without over-doing ex- 
planations His critical remarks show 

acute and exact scholarship, and a very use- 
ful addition to ordinary notes is the scheme 
of metres in the choruses." — Guardian, 
December 16, 1867. 

' ' If, as we are fain to believe, the editors 
of the Catena Classicomm have got to- 
gether such a pick of scholars as have no 
need to play their best card first, there is a 
bright promise of success to their series in 
the first sample of it which has come to 
hand — Mr. Jebb's Electra. We have seen 
it suggested that it is unsafe to pronounce 
on the merits of a Greek Play edited for 
educational purposes until it has been tested 
in the hands of pupils and tutors. But our 
examination of the instalment of, we hope, 
a complete ' Sophocles,' which Mr. Jebb has 
put forth, has assured us that this is a 
needless suspension of judgment, and 
prompted us to commit the justifiable rash- 
ness of pronouncing upon its contents, and 
of asserting after due perusal that it is 
calculated to be admirably serviceable to 

every class of scholars and learners. And 
this assertion is based upon the fact that it 
is a by no means one-sided edition, and 
that it looks as with the hundred eyes of 
Argus, here, there, and every where, to keep 
the reader from straying. In a concise and 
succinct style of English annotation, forming 
the best substitute for the time-honoured 
Latin notes which had so much to do with 
making good scholars in days of yore, Mr. 
Jebb keeps a steady eye for all questions of 
grammar, construction, scholarship, and 
philology, and handles these as they arise 
with a helpful and sufficient precision. In 
matters of grammar and syntax his practice 
for the most part is to refer his reader to 
the proper section of Madvig's ' Manual of 
Greek Syntax :' nor does he ever waste 
space and time in explaining a construction, 
unless it be such an one as is not satis- 
factorily dealt with in the grammars of 
Madvig or Jelf. Experience as a pupil 
and a teacher has probably taught him the 
value of the wholesome task of hunting out 
a grammar reference for oneself, instead of 
finding it, handy for slurring over, amidst 
the hundred and one pieces of information 
in a voluminous foot-note. But whenever 
there occurs any peculiarity of construction, 
which is hard to reconcile to the accepted 
usage, it is Mr. Jebb's general practice to 
be ready at hand with manful assistance. 
— Contemporary Review, November, 1867. 

Mr. f ebb's " Ajax " of Sophocles. 

"Mr. Jebb has produced a work which 
will be read with interest and profit by 
the most advanced scholar, as it contains, 
in a compact form, not only a careful sum- 
mary of the labours of preceding editors, 
but also many acute and ingenious original 
remarks. We do not know whether the 
matter or the manner of this excellent com- 
mentary is deserving of the higher praise : 
the skill with which Mr. Jebb has avoided, 
on the one hand, the wearisome prolixity of 
the Germans, and on the other the jejune 
brevity of the Porsonian critics, or the ver- 
satility which has enabled him in turn to 
elucidate the plots, to explain the verbal 
difficulties, and to illustrate the idioms of 
his author. All this, by a studious economy 
of space and a remarkable precision of e.\- 
:., he has done for the 'Ajax' in a 
volume of some 200 pages." — Athenaeum, 
March 21, 1868. 

" The Introduction furnishes a great deal 
of information in a compact form, adapted 
to give the student a fair conception of his 
author, and to aid him in mastering its 
difficulties. We have observed how the 
brief notes really throw light on obscurity, 
and give sufficient aid without making the 
study too easy,— a main point to be ob- 
served by one who edits a classic author 

for the benefit of learners and students." — 
Clerical Jouriial, February 13, 1868. 

"Mr. Jebb's Edition of the Ajax in the 
Catena Classtcornm ought to assure those 
who have hitherto doubted that this is a 
Series to adopt. Like his edition of the 
'Electra' this of the 'Ajax' is ably and 
usefully handled. The Introduction alone 
would prove the wide reading, clear views, 
and acute criticism of its writer." — CJnircJi- 
man, February 20, 1868. 

" A more scholarly and thoroughly prac- 
tical Edition of a Greek play has rarely 
issued from the Press. The explanations 
are both copious and freely given : and we 
have not met with a single note wherein, 
conciseness appears to have been gained at 
the expense of clearness of meaning. The 
'Ajax,' however, is by no means a difficult 
play, and we must therefore infer that Mr. 
Jebb takes a more liberal view than some 
of his coadjutors of the amount of help 
which an ordinary Student may fairly be 

\ to require Compared 

with the renderings of most other editions, 

Mr. Jebb's translations have decidedly the 

advantage in force and elegance of ex- 

..." — Eaucational Times Match, 


Opinions of the Press. 

Mr. Green's " Aeharnians and Knights" of Aristophanes. 

"The Editors of this Series have under- 
taken the task of issuing texts of all the 
authors commonly read, and illustrating 
them -with an English Commentary, com- 
pendious as well as clear. If the future 
volumes fulfil the promise of the Pro- 
spectus as well as those already published, 
the result will be a very valuable work. 
The excellence of the print, and the care 
and pains bestowed upon the general getting 
up, form a marked contrast to the school- 
books of our own day. Who does not 
remember the miserable German editions of 
classical authors in paper covers, execrably 
printed on detestable paper, which were 
thought amply good enough for the school- 
boys of the last generation? A greater 
contrast to these can hardly be imagined 
than is presented by the Catena Classi- 
corunt. Xor is the improvement only 
external : the careful revision of the text, 
and the notes, not too lengthy and con- 
fused, but well and judiciously selected, 
which are to be found in every page, add 
considerably to the value of this Edition, 
which we may safely predict will soon be 
an established favourite, not only among 
Schoolmasters, but at the Universities. 
The volume before us contains the first part 
of an Edition of Aristophanes, which com- 
prises the Aeharnians and the Knights, the 
one first in order, and the other the most 
famous of the plays of the great Athenian 
Satirist." — Churchman, May 23, 1867. 

"The utmost care has been taken with 
this Edition of the most sarcastic and clever 

of the old Greek dramatists, facilitating 
the means of understanding both the te: | 
and intention of that biting sarcasm whi 
will never lose either point or interest, ail 
is as well adapted to the present age as 
was to the times when first put forward." 
Bell's Weekly Messenger, June 8, 1867. 

" The advantages conferred on the learns 2 
by these compendious aids can only be pre \ 
perly estimated by those who had exper 
ence of the mode of study years ago. Thi 
translated passages and the notes, while ^ 
sufficient to assist the willing learner, cannot * 
be regarded in any sense as a cram"- 
Clerical Journal, June 6, 1867. 

"Mr. Green has discharged his part of 
the work with uncommon skill and ability. 
The notes show a thorough study of the 
two Plays, an independent judgment in the 
interpretation of the poet, and a wealth of 
illustration, from which the Editor draws 
whenever it is necessary."— Museum, June, 

" Mr. Green presumes the existence of a 
fair amount of scholarship in all who read 
Aristophanes, as a study of his works 
generally succeeds to some considerable 
knowledge of the tragic poets. The notes 
he has appended are therefore brief, perhaps 
a little too brief. We should say the ten- 
dency of most modern editors is rather the 
other way ; but Mr. Green no doubt knows 
the class for which he writes, and has been 
careful to supply their wants." — Spectator, 
July 27, 1867. 

Mr. Sim cox's Juvenal, 

"Of Mr. Simcox's 'Juvenal' we can 
only speak in terms of the highest com- 
mendation, as a simple, unpretending work, 
admirably adapted to the wants of the 
school-boy or of a college passman. It is 
clear, concise, and scrupulously honest in 
shirking no real difficulty. The pointed 
epigrammatic hits of the satirist are every- 
where well brought out. and the notes really 
are what they profess to be, explanatory in 
the best sense of the term." — London 
Review, September 28, 1867. 

"This is a link in the Catena Classi- 
comim to which the attention of our readers 
has been more than once directed as a good 
Series of Classical works for School and 
College purposes. The Introduction is a 
very comprehensive and able account of 
Juvenal, his satires, and the manuscripts." 
— Athenceum, October 5, 1867. 

"This is a very original and enjoy- 
able Edition of one of our favourite 
classics." — Spectator, November 16, 

" Every class of readers,— those who use 
Mr. Simcox as their sole interpreter, and 
those who supplement larger editions by 
his concise matter,— will alike find interest 
and careful research in his able preface. 
This indeed we should call the great feature 
of his book. The three facts which sum up 
Juvenal's history so far as we know it are 
soon despatched ; but the internal evidence 
both as to the dates of his writing and 
publishing his Satires, and as to his cha- 
racter as a writer, occupy some fifteen 
or twenty pages, which will repay method- 
ical study." — Churchman. December 11, 


lontton, ©jtfovti, anti Camlnftgc